Sitting in Shadows
by Plaidcaps
Summary: World War II AU. Child!lock. John Watson, living in the back streets of London is locked out of a bomb shelter in the middle of a blitz! A mysterious boy emerges from the shadows to help him out and they become best friends immediately. Best friends do everything together, including solving mysteries. Rated T for some heavy language. A friendship story
1. Locked Out

A rustle in the dark. The blackness that surrounds is so thick, it seems to have a physical presence; covering eyes with quick fingers and pressing on chests until all of the air has been forced out. Barely daring to breathe, listening for the noise is difficult when the silence fills your ears with the sound of your own heartbeat.

There is was again. The rustle, this time accompanied by a whisper.

"Son of a bitch." There was a pause and then, out of the darkness, a flame, small and quivering manifested itself on the end of a matchstick. The cursing presence in the dark used the little yellow flame to light a candle by the bedside before dropping it in a cup of water left on the floor.

"Harriet, you know what mum said. No lights after sunset." John didn't even care about the swear she uttered. He knew himself how difficult it was to get the clumsy little matches to catch on the worn paper.

"We are going to need the light in a moment. Can you-"

"Harriet!" John interrupted; he was eager to avoid the scolding of his mother.

"Shhhh...the windows are blacked out anyway. Can you hear it?" John looked nervously to the clumsily painted windows- the whole Watson family was sleeping under patched quilts and eating stale bread- there was no way they had enough to afford the blackout paint that was ideal, or required. The nights were too cold to hang their remaining blankets on the windows, so they searched for money to buy white paint, which they later tainted with ink to make it slightly more opaque.

John strained his ears for the all-too familiar noise.

"I don't hear it. Wouldn't the sirens-"

"Shhh...it's there. You know the sirens don't work for shit." Harriet was a little older than John, so she was a little more relaxed with her language. That's to say, she swore like a seasoned sailor. "Listen!''

Sure enough, there it was. A low drone; barely audible. They were coming. The planes were on their way.

It was the height of the London Blitz. The whole world was at war, but this was their second time around. Whole countries were bitter and angry and determined to do better than the first time. This rage inspired people to become cleverer; to get better at the business of war. The third reich was rising up from the ashes of World War one, and it was their people who were in the planes dropping bombs in the dead of night. They were the ones dropping bombs on all the streets of London, not caring if they landed on empty street corners or on the homes of the elderly or even on the roof of the Watson family, the only two children of which were sleeping in the attic space. The Watson residence was very crowded; grandmothers and grandfathers and aunts and cousins all lived under one roof. John and Harriet had to be courteous to the 'permanent guests,' so they were the ones sleeping in the attic, looking out the small opaque window, listening for the low drones of the third Reich on their way.

"C'mon, John! Hurry up, we need to go now!"

"Go wake the others, I'm coming."

"John, don't fool around, those are bombs falling from the sky, not grandmother's dentures. Hurry the fuck up." Harriet loved John, but was a bit roundabout when it came to showing it.

"Just don't get blown up, please. You're annoying, but I prefer you in one piece. Meet you at the shelter." Harriet rushed down the creaky wooden steps to wake up the rest of the Watson residence. She could be heard shouting from three floors below; the walls were as soundproof as soggy newsprint.

John knew the drill. Throw on his thin, patched coat. Jump into his shoes. Grab his pack, already filled from the night before. Then it was time to run.

Down the stairs, through the door and out into the night. Running to the bomb shelter like his life depended on it. In fact, his life did depend on it; the accuracy with which the planes dropped shit was awful at best. No one was aiming for a dingy side street in London, but when the whole city was dark, it was difficult to tell where bombs were falling.

The cold air was biting; even more so to John whose clothes were threadbare. His lungs were pinching when he arrived at the closest shelter. There was something wrong though- people were milling about outside; why weren't they going in? John ducked beneath the elbows of the crowd until he found Harriet by the door, struggling with the door handle.

"What's the matter, why aren't we going in?"

"Listen here, dipshit. Do you think we are standing here because we want to? The people who own the shelter are out of town and left the damn door locked. Happy? We are never going to survive out here if they start dropping shit." One of the adults from down the road piped up,

"When was the last time they got a good shot on us though? The closest bomb in the last few weeks was over five kilometers away." There was a murmur of agreement among the adults. One of the more confident of the adults vocalized to the crowd,

"I'm going home. This is a waste of time; I'm cold." He hadn't uttered the final syllable when the ground shook and there was the noise of a building being rent apart not even three blocks away. A hush fell over the crowd again as they all came to the same realization: the bombs were close. They were getting closer too, and their only hope of avoiding them lied behind a locked door. The smallest children began crying; John himself was on the edge of tears. It was all so overwhelming; the ground shook more violently as he sat on the grass, staring out into the darkness. He was convinced that he was going to die waiting outside the bomb shelter. All because some idiot forgot to leave a key with a neighbor when they left town for the weekend.

Just as John was about to break down and sob, a small figure came bolting out of the darkness. The figure was much like John; dressed in patched clothes and skinny from undernourishment; the only visible difference was the hair color. This little boy sported dark, curly hair. John's was as straight as a pin and flaxen-colored.

The little figure was running with as much desperation as John was before; the rushed, wild look in his light eyes distracted you from the jagged cut on his cheek. He approached John and said between pants,

"What are you waiting out here for? Those bombs are headed this way." John simply replied,

"It's locked," too tired to say anything else. The dark-haired youth scoffed.

"What ass locks a bomb shelter? Nevermind, come with me." He grabbed John's hand and led him through the crowd to the door.

"Is this it?" John was confused at this boy. What did he want to know about the door?

"Is what it?"

"Is everyone this slow around here? First someone locks the door, now you. Is this the door to the shelter?" John was rather offended. He could be rather clever, but at the moment, he was a bit preoccupied with other matters.

"Of course it is!"

"Perfect. Now, hold this for me." The dark-haired youth passed him some strange-looking tools. By this point, the adults had begun to notice this unfamiliar face fiddling with the door at the front of the crowd.

"Hey! What are you doing? Stop messing with the door, you're going to break it!" This strange boy turned around and said rather forcefully,

"Oi! Shut it mate, I'm picking the lock," he paused for a moment for dramatic effect before saying, "Unless...you know, you want me to stop. Those bombs are only getting closer." The adults were hushed, but only for a moment. Time was precious and becoming even more so as the ground began to shake more and more violently.

"Well, get on with it! Don't just stand there!" He turned back to the lock, pleased with himself, before saying to John,

"Adults. Always getting in the way. Now pass me the pointy tool." John was happy to oblige.


	2. Hobbit-Hole

Among the noises of bombs and buildings giving way, the soft click of the lock was music to their ears; just barely audible above all of the racket. The dark haired boy threw the door open, seized John's hand and flew down the stairs; John doing his best to keep up with this boy that was dragging him down the stairs. Down, down they went, one hand still clutching the strange tools, the other full of flesh; this boy had yet to release his grip, even when they reached the end of the short stairs.

"Bloody hell. Now we know why the shelter was locked. I didn't know that the person that owned the shelter was a baker!" The sight that awaited them at the end of the staircase surprised not just the boys, but the rest of the people coming down the staircase. John was confused by this boy's remark.

"Didn't you know? Mr. Wilkinson owns the largest bakery in this part of London!"

"Nevermind, that's not important. I don't care how big your bakery is, you don't need _this much _flour!" Sitting in the shelter was bags upon bags of flour. The entire back wall had canvas sacs full of the stuff stacked up until they touched the ceiling. Flour wasn't rationed, but the Germans were attacking British import ships day in and day out. Everything was in short stock, so to those in the shelter who had been eating rather infrequently the sheer size of all the foodstuffs made them stand in awe for a moment. It was only a moment though; the silence was broken by a bomb that shook the shelter rather violently. Dust fell from the ceiling like a snowfall, covering their already dirty hair and clothes in a new layer of grit.

"Nevermind the flour everyone; find a spot to sit, this might be a while!" Harriet had regained control of the situation and was back to doing what she does best: giving orders. She was rather good at it too; even the adults began to lay down blankets on the earth floor and gather their children about at her remark.

"She's your sister, isn't she?" The dark-haired youth had finally let go of John's hand and had begun to recollect his tools. Now that they were inside, John had a chance to get a good look at the strange bits of metal he was given to hold.

"Yeah, but nevermind her. You're a thief! These are lockpicks!"

"Wow, I had no idea! It's not like I just picked the lock to get us in here," he said with some heavy sarcasm. "You're welcome, by the way." John blushed; if this boy had not come along they would all be in some real trouble. They might even be dead.

"Thank you. I'm John, by the way. John Watson." He held out his hand; the other boy shook it and said, "Sherlock Holmes." They released their grips on each others' hands after a moment. Sherlock muttered,

"I'm not a _real_ thief. At least not like you think."

"Oh?" John raised his eyebrows in disbelief. He liked this boy and was interested to learn more about these tools. "What do you steal then?" The corners of Sherlock's mouth twitched before he asked,

"Do you have the time?" John glanced down at his watch, only to be greeted by his bare wrist. There was a thrill of panic; that watch had never left his wrist from the moment he put it on. How could he lose it; now of all times?

"It's gone!" he exclaimed.

"What is?" Sherlock looked genuinely confused.

"My watch!" John started to scramble in the dirt, searching for his watch. It was one of the few possessions that he was proud of.

"Does your watch have a leather band and a brass face?" said Sherlock nonchalantly.

"Yes! How did you know?" John was amazed. How did he know exactly what his watch looked like?

"Well, I've found it." He flashed his thin wrist where, to John's surprise, his watch had taken up residence. Sherlock started to undo the buckle and pass it back when John exclaimed,

"You're a pickpocket too!"

"Keep it down now, I don't want to ruin my reputation." John was amazed; what other secrets did this boy hold? Before he could get anymore questions out though, Sherlock said,

"I wasn't going to keep it. If I really wanted it, I wouldn't have mentioned it. You wouldn't have even noticed until tomorrow probably." He said it with an apologetic tone; he wanted to regain his trust.

"Can we still be friends?" John didn't even hesitate when he said,

"Of course!" John had no friends and was eager to find one. His chaotic household and lack of food prevented him from bringing anyone home.

"Perfect!" Sherlock looked relieved. He was just as eager as John to find a friend. "You're my first one. My first friend, I mean." There was an awkward silence between them. They listened to the bombs overhead and the babble of the others in the shelter for a few minutes before John mumbled,

"Me too." They caught each other's eyes and smiled. Sherlock glanced off to the side and noticed John's pack for the first time.

"What's in there, if I may ask?" He pointed to the pack, worn and patched like everything else John owned.

"Oh. I forgot I brought it with me. I pack it full each night in case we need to hide, like tonight. That way I can just grab it and run. Here; I'll show you." John opened the top and dumped out all of the contents for his new friend to see.

"It's not much really." Sherlock's eyes widened at the sight of all of the stuff that was hidden away. His eyes noticed a thin blanket, a wooden yo-yo, a pack of cards, a tin of pears, a thin book, a canteen of water, and a small, neatly-wrapped sweet.

"I think it's brilliant!" Sherlock blurted out. He picked up the book and ran his fingers over the leather spine. "I can't remember the last time I saw a book!" John was both confused and amazed.

"That's the only one I own. Why don't you just go to the library?" Sherlock grimaced at the mention of the library. John realized that there was a lot more to Sherlock than he was willing to tell at the moment.

"They don't like me at the library," he said simply. John was curious.

"Why not?"

"_The Hobbit. _Is it any good?"

"It's my favorite," John noticed Sherlock was looking at it with longing. He must really love books, and miss them a great deal if he hasn't seen one in a while.

"Wanna make a deal?" Sherlock didn't even glance up from the book when he replied with,

"What kind of a deal?"

"We can read the book, right here, right now if you answer one question." Still looking at the book, Sherlock's response was quick.

"Done. What is your question?"

"Where are you from? You talk with a London accent, you look like a Londoner, but you seem clueless about this whole area. You didn't know Mr. Wilkinson was the baker and-" A face full of pain and bad memories emerged from the inside cover of the book to look up at John. Sherlock's eyes lost their bright, wild look as he remembered something. The wildness returned to his icy blue eyes as he said,

"I'll do even better than tell you. Tomorrow, if it's still there, I'll _show_ you." John was still concerned as he remembered the pained expression that covered Sherlock's face only a moment ago. Nevertheless, he agreed.

"Sure." A thought crossed John's mind and he blurted out, "Aren't your parents and siblings worried about you, with you here and all. Why didn't you hide in a shelter with them?" The pained look returned to his face and he took a breath to answer when a particularly close bomb shook the shelter a little more violently than any bomb previously. Everyone covered their faces and heads out of instinct; more dust fell on top of them, adding a new layer of brown. When everyone brought their hands down from over their heads and away from their faces, all was fine. Except one of Sherlock's hands came back with blood on it. The adrenaline of the situation outside and the excitement of meeting a new friend had made both of them forget about the jagged cut that ran across Sherlock's cheek.

"Shit. We don't even have bandages down here. Just all of this damn flour." John jumped into action at this remark and ripped off a strip from the thin blanket he had brought along in his pack. He gave it to Sherlock, who pressed it gently to the cut to stop the bleeding.

"Thanks, mate." They caught each other's eyes and smiled before they quickly glanced away.

"Why don't we read the book? You can show me where you're from tomorrow. We'll meet out by Mr. Wilkinson's mailbox in the morning." Sherlock perked up at this.

"Sure! I can show you my violin!"

"You can play the violin?"

"Yes, but nevermind that! Let's read this book." He glanced down at _The Hobbit_, which he was still clutching from before. He had gotten some blood on it and was hurriedly trying to wipe it off the cover.

"Don't worry about it, mate. Should I start reading it?" Sherlock tossed the blood-stained book to his new friend and pulled the blanket over them as they lied down near the wall. They might as well get comfortable; the bombs might last all night.

Lying in the dirt, covered in a threadbare blanket, they read _The Hobbit _together as the bombs exploded in the distance, shaking dirt from the ceiling.

"_In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort..._"


	3. Littered Bricks

John woke up to Sherlock prodding him in the stomach.

"Hey. Pssssst. Mate, it's time to get up. The planes have left." John pushed the blanket off of himself and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He glanced at his watch; the little brass face told him that it was 3:21 in the morning. Sherlock started folding up the blanket and collecting the book to give back to John. They had only gotten through one chapter before falling asleep. John had begun to collect his belongings and put them away when he heard,

"I'll see you in the morning?" John looked up from putting everything in his tattered pack to see an expectant Sherlock, waiting for an answer. There was still blood on his face, both dried and fresh.

"Yeah. Will you be alright tonight? Walking home by yourself, I mean. The bombs may be over, but it's still dark and there's stuff all in the streets from all of the explosions." Sherlock looked at his hands while answering.

"I should be fine. I've done it before."

"You mean you run off into the night every time the sirens start to wail? Do you even go to the same shelter each time?" Judging by the look on his face, the answer was clearly a 'no.'

"Why not?" Blurted out John. A look of exhaustion now crossed Sherlock's face.

"Long story. I'll explain tomorrow, while I'm showing you where I live and where I'm from and stuff. Will you be able to stay out all day? It might be a while." John noticed the curious word choice and said,

"Yeah, my school is still trying to clean up after last week's bombing, so I have no classes. What do you mean 'where you live and where you are from?' You're talking like they are two different places."

"You'll see. Let's go, your sister is leaving." They walked up the stairs and closed the door softly behind them. Sherlock turned back to the handle and started working at it with his tools again. John was confused and asked,

"What are you doing? Everyone's out mate." Sherlock didn't look away from his work when he replied,

"I know. That's exactly why I'm locking it. Mr.-what's his name? Wilkinson had this locked for a reason. Might as well leave it as we left it. I don't want to be responsible for _that_ much stolen flour." A smirk crossed his face as he slid the bolt back into place and turned back to John.

"See you in the morning?"

"Yeah. Are you sure you'll be alright?" John was concerned for his new friend; he felt like Sherlock wasn't telling him the whole of the situation. Sherlocked pocketed his lockpicks before answering,

"Of course. See you in a few hours." He smiled and then took off into the night; running as fast and as desperately as when he first appeared.

John was awoken for the second time that day, this time by his sister. She threw open the shoddily-painted window, which let in not only the weak morning rays but a cold draught. John rolled out of bed and pulled on as many layers of clothes as he could manage. Harriet stood transfixed at the window sill, looking out into the street below. John was curious and walked up to the edge of the small window. The sight that greeted him was far from pleasant.

The house across the street and two doors down had gotten the worst hit- the bricks that once made up the face of the house now littered the street along with broken glass. Only the bare bones remained standing; lonely and strange-looking in the morning light. The houses directly next door weren't as bad, just a hole in the wall that was adjacent to the explosion and a couple of broken windows. The Watsons in retrospect were very lucky; they had but one broken window, broken by one of the flying bricks from the house down the road. Walking back home from the bomb shelter was nerve-wracking for everyone. Seeing all of the dimly-lit rubble in the streets sent a thrill of nervousness through their senses; any one of them may return to their home only to find that they had none.

When John had finally arrived at his house last night, his first feeling was relief. _Phew. The house is still in one piece. Some good news._ It was one less worry. Where would all of the various Watsons go if they did not have a home? John didn't like to think about it. As he carefully made his way to the front door through the bricks and shrapnel that lied cluttered about, he heard a heart-wrenching scream. A wail filled with so much emotion, it made all the witnesses to the scene feel guilty; as if they were intruding on something private.

The owner of the house that had suffered the explosion had returned, and they were the one that was wailing. It was a woman, releasing these cries as she clutched her chest. She was mourning the death of her house and the death of her life as she knew it. No one lived on this side of London because they were rich and many of the occupants on this street had nowhere else to go. This was it for them, and this woman was no exception. Her husband soon came running up the street to join her, followed by their two teenaged children. She put her face in her hands and sat right where she was standing, directly on top of a pile of bricks. The children, in awe, stood looking at what was left of their house with their jaws on the ground. As they began to recover from their momentary shock, they began shuffling through the ruins, looking for anything that was salvageable. As they did this, their father sat down right next to their mother and pulled her into his arms. She was sobbing uncontrollably and as people began to make their way back to their own homes, they gathered at the scene and began to offer spots to sleep.

"It's not much, but we have a warm spot by the fire."

"We have some extra blankets and there is lots of space in Joanne's room for all of you."

"Come on now, we'll sort this all out in the morning." Eventually the family found a place to sleep and all went quiet, but as John pulled up the covers that night, he could still hear the mother's wails. They pierced his dreams and as the sound reverberated in his head, he swore that he would never go to war. Even if it meant that he had to give up his dream of becoming a soldier. No one deserved to live in fear like they were, wondering every night if they would have a place to sleep and wondering everyday if they had enough to eat. Living like this was exhausting, and John wished it on no one. So as he tucked in, the wails still fresh in his mind he made a vow. _I'm going to do some good in this world. Becoming a soldier will only cause more pain. Maybe I'll become a doctor instead. Healing people would be nice…_ and he drifted off under his blankets, his thoughts still full of flying shrapnel and crying mothers and worry for his new friend Sherlock.


	4. The Wharf-Side

John was still looking, transfixed, out of the window when he heard a faint _crash_ coming from a few floors below. His mother was up, and she had out the frying pan. Breakfast. If you could call it that. It was more of a morning family gathering. All of the Watsons would gather at the rickety wooden table to argue, discuss, and joke over their slice of toast. Adults would read the newspaper and all of John's cousins would try to steal each other's slice of warm bread. If you weren't careful, some of the younger ones would have your slice in their mouth before you even knew it went missing. He couldn't blame them; all of them were hungry and if he ever had the opportunity to get more to eat, he would take it. Just not from his family.

With a sigh John closed the window and began to make his way downstairs with his pack so that he could claim his slice of bread. He felt the wooden boards bow beneath his feet as he made his way down the flight of stairs as old as time. Two flights of creaky wooden stairs later, he saw his mother hunched over the stove, the only one up besides one other smelly uncle reading the paper.

"Morning, John. Sleep well?" his mother asked him as if nothing was wrong. As if they hadn't spent half the night hiding underground avoiding bombs. As if people weren't losing their homes or their way of lives. As if there wasn't a war going on or people dying.

"Yes, mother. I slept well." It was a lie, but growing up with all of these people around, John became a very good liar.

"That's good, honey. Were you warm?" John hesitated before answering,

"Yes, I was warm." He knew that his other cousins and elderly relatives could use the extra blankets more than he did.

"Perfect, sweetie. Here is your breakfast." She slid him a plate; on it was a slice of bread, warm from the pan it was just sitting in. They couldn't spare butter for toast, not when it was rationed. As John munched on the edges of his meager breakfast, the rest of the household had begun to wake up. People with bedhead and striped pyjamas alike pulled up a chair to the rickety wooden table and awaited their slice of bread. As everyone began to trickle in, John stood up and moved his plate to the sink. He then hitched up his pack and gathered the courage to ask his mother the question that he had been waiting to ask all morning:

"Mum? Can I go out today? I'm going to go play with a friend." His voice was barely above a whisper, but everyone seemed to hear it. For a moment, all was quiet as uncles stopped shuffling the newsprint and childrens stopped banging plates as they all turned to look at John. The silence didn't last long; it was broken by various interjections of exclamations:

"_You_ have a friend? Unbelievable."

"No way. You probably made him up."

"You're up to something, I'm sure of it. When was the last time you ever mentioned a friend?" John looked to the floor, abashed. He thought he was going to cry when his mother came to the rescue.

"Shush! The lot of you need to learn some manners! I'm rather proud of John. Do you want to have him round for dinner tonight?" John took a shaky breath before answering,  
>"Yes, mum. I'd like that. Maybe...can we have him over tomorrow night instead? We made a plan to be out all day today."<p>

"Of course, dear. Also, don't you worry about the food; what's one more mouth among all of this?" She gestured to the people gathered about, all of them bedraggled and sleepy and still waiting on their bread. John smiled and said,

"Thanks, mum. I'll be back before dark." She gave him a swift kiss on the forehead and then he was out the door and off into the street.

John arrived at 's mailbox to find Sherlock already there, sitting in the little patch of grass, going through a backpack of his own. John sat next to him and spoke, saying,

"Hello. I hope I didn't keep you waiting." Sherlock straightened up, noticing John for the first time. He smiled and said,

"Not at all." There was a small pause before he said, "Thanks for showing up." Sherlock blushed and quickly went back to searching through his pack. John was confused.

"Why wouldn't I show up?"

"Hasn't it ever happened to you before? People that I thought were my friends would ditch me. I was never good enough for them." There was a bitterness in Sherlock's voice. It had clearly happened several times to this poor boy. John said,

"I know the feeling. I meant what I said last night, though. You're my first friend. I'm going to keep you around." Both of them smiled as their eyes met. Sherlock tied his pack shut, stood up and offered John a hand.

"Good. Let's get going then. I hope you're up for a walk, I'm from a ways away." John took his hand and Sherlock helped him up off the grass. Brushing off his trousers, John said,

"Of course. I told my mum that we'd be out all day." The mention of his mother jogged his memory. "Oh! My mum wants to meet you; can you come for dinner tomorrow night?" Sherlock was delighted at this news.

"Of course! I don't want to take your food though, times are tough as it is." Sherlock paused before asking "Is it really okay?"

"Yeah. Not that I'm one to judge mate, but you could use an extra meal." Everyone was a little lankier from the recent events, but Sherlock was even more so than the average person. The edges of Sherlock's mouth twitched and he glanced down, self-conscious. He spoke, saying,

"Yeah, well. Nothing I can do about that. Are you ready to go?" John hitched up his pack and said, "Of course."

And they were off. Sherlock led the way through streets littered with shrapnel and through alleyways that twisted and turned; he really seemed to know his way about. As the two boys made their way through the back streets of London, they talked and laughed and kicked pebbles down the road. For a moment it had seemed like nothing was wrong; they had momentarily forgotten the worries of war, their patched clothes and their empty bellies. It was all as it should be when they were together. Neither of them had had a proper friend before, and they were drinking up each other's presence like a parched plant in the summertime. They talked about a lot of things on their way, but both of them had fallen in love with _The Hobbit_ and spent a lot of time discussing it.

"Could you imagine? If I was Bilbo Baggins and all of those dwarfs came in to eat all of my food, I think I would have murdered one of them." Sherlock said this as he picked up a piece of brick that once belonged to one of the crumbling houses they were passing by. "Nevermind that, could you imagine having that much _food_? A whole pantry full!" Sherlock threw the small piece of brick as far as he could down the road. John waited a moment before answering,

"Going on an adventure sounds like fun though. Going to new places, I mean. I've never been out of London." Sherlock smirked and said,

"We're going to fix that today, mate."

"What, go on an adventure?"

"Well, that too I guess. They're not as much fun as they are made out to be. No, we are going to leave London." John was startled, and his face must have shown it, because Sherlock quickly said,

"Don't worry yourself! We aren't going far, we'll be back home before sunset." John sighed with relief. They walked for another half a kilometer in a friendly silence before John asked,

"Where are we going?" Sherlock readjusted the strap on his pack before saying,

"Sorry, didn't I say? We are going to the…" Sherlock waved his hand in the air as if the word he was searching for was floating around and all he had to do was catch it. "You know, the place with the boats and the ropes and it smells like fish?" John thought for a moment before answering.

"Oh! You mean the wharfs?"

"Yes! That's exactly what I mean."

"You live down there?"

"What? No- there is someone I know down there that is willing to give us a ride. Save us lots of time and legwork." They turned a corner and together they saw all the ships lined up in their neat little rows, all of them waiting to be loaded and unloaded as they sat in the Thames. It would have been a quaint little scene if it didn't reek of week-old fish. Sherlock led the way through the maze of tangled ropes and stacked crates, John doing his best to avoid stepping on one of the tails of the several cats lying about. They didn't walk long before they were greeted by a booming voice.

"Ohhh! Salut, Sherlock, comment ça va?" Without a moment's hesitation, Sherlock replied,

"Ça va bien! Et vous?"

"Parfait!" John was bewildered. Sherlock spoke french? Before John could ask any questions, the man, as big and muscled as a bear, stepped off of his boat and grabbed Sherlock in a rib-cracking hug. After the man released Sherlock, Sherlock rubbed his ribs and said,

"Saprisi, c'est mon ami, John." Sherlock gestured towards John and said, "Mon meilleur ami." The man pulled John into a hug at this statement. Once it was over, he put John down, brushed him off and said,

"Bonjour, John. Je m'apelle Saprisi." John was so confused at this point that all he could do was look to Sherlock for some help. Sherlock said,

"Oh, Saprisi, j'oublié. John ne parle pas français." The bear of a man laughed a deep, hearty laugh and said,

"Ce n'est pas un probleme." He looked to John and said, "Let's try this again. Hello, John. My name is Saprisi."

"Hello." Now that the confusion was somewhat over, John could get a good look a this man. He was big. Arms like tree trunks and shoulders as wide as an elephant's, this man could probably wrestle with a whale and still win. His hair was jet black and grew all over his face; his beard was like a small bush. This man had clearly found his calling with the sea; not only was he built like a fisherman, he even _looked_ like a fisherman. He spoke again and his deep, rolling voice reminded John of thunderstorms.

"No need to clam up, any friend of Sherlock's is a friend of mine." He gave John a hearty wink and then continued, "Hey, Sherlock, you need a ride?"

"Yes, Saprisi."

"The usual?"

"Yep."

"Okay, just give me one second. You guys can hop on board." Sherlock motioned for John to follow him. They hopped on Saprisi's vessel, a medium-sized ship that was rigged with an otter trawl. Painted bright red, it was the only fishing vessel around. All of the other ships moored at these wharfs were transporting goods. Sherlock and John dropped their packs on the floor of the cabin as Saprisi untied the last rope from the dock. One last push and they were off.

John had never been on a boat before. He had come by the Thames and watched them pass by several times, but he never got a chance to ride one. His eyes were wide as he looked at all of the equipment and tools scattered on the deck. All of this was new and exciting to him, but it seemed like Sherlock had done all of this before.

"Hey, Sherlock. He's not going to fish in the Thames, is he? There seems to be a lot of other boats about. Wouldn't he catch one of them by mistake?" Sherlock smiled before saying,

"No, he'll wait until we are in the proper ocean. The Thames is dirty anyway, it would be hard to sell fish that smell like they jumped right out of the Thames." They walked to the bow of the boat where they sat down and stuck their legs through the metal railing to dangle freely over the water. They sat in a friendly silence as they watched the other boats and the buildings on the shore pass them by. The silence was broken after a short while by John.

"Thanks for bringing me, this is a lot of fun. I've never been on a boat before." Sherlock seemed surprised by this.

"Really? You've never been on a boat?"

"Yeah. It's pretty cool." Sherlock smiled before he said,

"It's a lot more fun in the summer. Now that it's the dead of winter and it's cold, it gets miserable real quickly, especially when you have to haul nets and get wet and stuff." They sat thinking about this for a moment. John asked,

"Sherlock, how do you know Saprisi? And how do you know french?" The pained expression returned to Sherlock's face and the light dimmed behind his bright blue eyes as he said,

"I'll explain it all when we get there, I promise. Can we just...wait til then?" He asked with such a tenderness, John couldn't refuse him.

"Of course, mate." He would find out soon enough anyway, a little waiting wasn't going to kill him. They sat in silence again, listening to the red boat cut its way through the water as Saprisi steered it through the Thames; each of the passengers lost in their own thoughts.


	5. The Chalk-Cliffs

The day was cold and the wind dashed over the water, spraying the two boys that were dangling their legs over the prow of the little red ship with sea spray. Before long, they had gotten chilly and retreated to the captain's cabin where the wind and water had less effect. They pulled out John's worn blanket and sat down on the rumpled mattress towards the back of the small cabin. Saprisi, sitting behind a steering wheel at the front of the cabin overheard them reading _The Hobbit _from his bed and said to them,

"What are you reading?" John looked up from the book and said,

"_The Hobbit." _Saprisi seemed excited. He gave a whoop and replied,

"That's one of my favorites! Have you gotten to the part where-"

"Arrêt, Saprisi! I haven't read it before, I don't want to know what happens!" Sherlock cut off Saprisi with this statement; he was determined to read the whole thing without a single spoiler. Saprisi let out one of his rumbling laughs and said,

"D'accord, Sherlock. I won't say another word about _The Hobbit_ or Bilbo Baggins until you have finished it."

"Thank you." John continued reading, and all was well. Everyone was happy; Saprisi was steering his ship, the boys were warm under the blanket, and they were all with friends, reading a good book. Time seemed to stop as they all enjoyed each other's company and listened to the epic tale of Bilbo Baggins. The moment was eventually broken by Saprisi, who announced,

"We are officially leaving the Thames, if you want to come up and see." John and Sherlock jumped up from the rumpled mattress and looked out of the wide window Saprisi was sitting in front of. John had never seen anything like it. He lived in London, so the largest body of water he had ever seen was the Thames. He thought that was big, but it was nothing to the sight he was seeing now. His eyes were wide with wonder as he looked out into the English channel for the first time.

"Wow. I didn't realize that the water was so big." Sherlock and Saprisi laughed at his surprise. They laughed for so long that they were wiping away tears from their eyes. Saprisi got his breath back first and said,

"This isn't even the proper ocean. Wait until you see _that_. I wonder what you'll say then." Sherlock pointed out to the horizon and said,

"Yeah, you can see France from here. If you look close, you just just make it out." John looked to where Sherlock was pointing and squinted a bit; he was right. He shrugged and said,

"It's still really big." Saprisi put a large hand on John's shoulder and said,

"No doubt, son. One day, Sherlock and I will take you to the real ocean." John smiled at this thought, he would really like that.

"Thank you, Saprisi."

"No problem. Like I said, any friend of Sherlock's is a friend of mine. Especially a _best_ friend." Meeting Sherlock was the best thing that has ever happened to John. He hadn't even known him twenty-four hours and he was already off on adventures and meeting even more friends. John liked Saprisi and his little red ship; Saprisi was the first person besides Sherlock to accept him fully and completely for who he was without a second thought or question. John smiled to himself, thinking of his new friends as he looked out over the English channel. Then the enormity of what Saprisi said hit John like a brick wall.

"Wait, did you say _best_ friend?" He asked Saprisi with an air of confusion. John turned to Sherlock and said, "You told him I was your best friend?" Sherlock glanced down, abashed.

"Yeah, I told him before when we were speaking french. Is that okay?" He seemed nervous for John's answer. He wasn't nervous for long though; not even a second passed by before he said,

"Of course it's okay! You're my best friend too. I'm just...honored. Thanks, mate." With that said, he gave Sherlock a hug. Sherlock tensed up at first, but only a few seconds went by before he returned the gesture. Soon enough, Saprisi had both of them in one of his bear hugs and lifted them off of the floor of the cabin. He put them down and they were both rubbing their ribs as Saprisi let go a laugh, as loud and booming as the sea they were riding upon.

"We are almost there, boys. I'll let you know when we are getting closer. In the meantime, go back to your book; I suspect it's warmer under your blanket than it is up here by the window." The two boys did as he said; they were grateful for the blanket and lumpy mattress. It was certainly warmer than by the steering wheel where you could see Saprisi's breath as he steered the vessel they were all passenger to. They weren't warm for long though, only a few chapters later they were interrupted by,

"Ready to work, boys? We're nearly there! Get ready to jump ship!" At this announcement, Sherlock ripped off the blanket and began folding it as quickly as he could. John was a little worried to be concerned with Sherlock's strange behavior.

"Did you say _jump ship_?" John was beyond confused. Were they jumping into the water? It was freezing out there! John was worried, why was Saprisi making them jump off? He didn't get an answer though, because Sherlock said,

"No time to explain! Just follow me." Sherlock shoved both the blanket and _The Hobbit_ into John's pack and tossed it to him. "You're going to want this." Sherlock shouldered his own pack as he dashed out of the cabin. John had no choice but to follow.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw Sherlock. He had climbed over the railing and was standing on the edge of the prow, leaning over the water. John walked up to the edge and said,

"What are you doing? You could fall in!" Sherlock shouted over the wind,

"You heard Saprisi, we're jumping ship! It's a bit difficult to land on the beach when you are on the wrong side of the railing." John became more and more confused as this conversation went on.

"What? We're jumping onto a beach? Where?" Sherlock let go of the railing with one of his hands to point to where they were heading.

"Damn, I was right when I first met you. No offense mate, but you're a bit slow. Saprisi's beaching the boat so we can get off. We are jumping from the bow here so we can land on the beach without getting wet." John followed Sherlock's outstretched finger and saw to his amazement that he was right; they were in fact heading full speed towards the beach. His mouth fell open as he saw what beach they were headed towards; he had only heard of it in the stories of teachers and kids at school. The beach he was looking at was one of the many lining the white cliffs of Dover. Some of the cliffs were so tall that John had to crane his neck to see the tops of them.

"John, you can ogle at them later, come over the railing. You don't want to be wet in this temperature." John was still a little skeptical, but he did as he was told. He swung his legs over the railing and held on as tight as he could as he leaned out over the water. He thought he was going to be sick; the water was rushing underneath him and the beach was moving towards him and all he could think about was his grip on the railing behind him. His knuckles were white and his face raw from the wind and spray that battered it unrelentlessly as he stood on the prow next to his best friend. Then the thought struck him, _What am I doing? Have I gone insane? _The worry must have been etched all over his face, because Sherlock shouted over the wind,

"Relax, mate! Just jump when I say!" The boat was closer than ever to the beach when John wondered aloud,

"Will the boat be okay when we crash? Won't it break?" He didn't have to wait long for his answer; Sherlock grabbed his hand and shouted,

"Jump! Now!" as the boat landed ashore. John jumped, hand-in-hand with Sherlock and soon the two boys were a mess of sand and shingle, rolling to a stop on the small beach. John's heart was still beating out of his chest as he stood up and brushed the sand off of himself. Besides a scraped knee, he was fine. Looking towards the boat, he noticed that it was still in one piece.

"Sherlock, how is the boat not in splinters? Why are we here? What is going on?" John was still very confused with the whole situation and he wanted some answers.

"One question at a time, mate. What do you want to know first?"

"The boat."

"Okay. You see the prow? It has a sheet of metal on it to keep it from falling apart when it scrapes the shore. It's _made_ to be beached. Isn't that right, Saprisi?" This last question was directed to the ship's captain, who appeared on the bow of the boat, looking at the two boys covered in the sand that they were just rolling around in.

"Aye. It's true. She's made to kiss the beach every now and again." Looking to where Sherlock mentioned, John noticed exactly what Sherlock described. A flat piece of metal as shiny as a new 50-pence piece lined the front of the little red ship.

"Why do you have that there, Saprisi?"

"Well, if it wasn't there, my boat would be a bunch of useless boards right about now. Can't land on the beach without it." John was still confused.

"But why do you need to land on beaches?" Sherlock said,

"I'll explain in a moment. We'll see you soon Saprisi?" Saprisi nodded and said,

"Be back in about two and a half hours. Push her out of the sand for me?"

"Of course. C'mon John, I'm going to need your help." Sherlock dropped his pack and began stripping off his shoes and socks. "We are going to push Saprisi's ship back into the water so he can fish while we wait here for him to pick us up." John hurried and took off his own shoes and socks. Pushing Saprisi's boat back into the channel was the fun part; standing in the freezing water was brutal. They only had to wade in up to their knees, but it only took a minute for their legs to turn numb. A few pushes later, the little red boat was floating on its own again and Saprisi was waving to them, saying, "See you lads soon. Stay safe; I want you in one piece when I come to pick you up!"

No sooner had Saprisi turned his ship around did the boys run out of the water, roll down their trousers, and put their socks and shoes back on. John was lacing up his shoes when he asked,

"So. Why are we here? Are you from Dover? That's where we are, right? I can't think of anywhere else that has giant chalk cliffs like this." Sherlock finished lacing up his shoes, put on his pack and brushed himself off again before he said,

"Do you want to climb to the top of one? A cliff, I mean. I know a path that leads to the top." John could tell Sherlock still wasn't ready to spill all of his secrets just yet. So he said,

"Sure, lead the way." Sherlock made his way away from the water to a line of small, hardy shrubs that grew close to the cliff face. They didn't walk for long before Sherlock pushed back a bush to reveal a path that led all the way to the top of the cliff, winding back and forth on itself until it reached the very top. As they began to climb Sherlock, slowly but surely, began to tell John about his past.

"To answer your question from before, I'm not from Dover. I didn't grow up near these giant, white cliffs or anywhere else close by for that matter."

"Then where _are_ you from? I thought we were going to where you lived before London." Sherlock stopped climbing for a moment to take a breath. He looked out over the channel and said,

"No yet."

"What did you say, Sherlock? Didn't hear you." Sherlock looked up to the top of the cliff; they were about three-quarters to the top.

"You can't see it yet. Wait until we get to the top of the cliff." So they trudged on. They climbed in a friendly silence, the only sounds to fill their ears was the whistling wind and the sound of their own heavy breathing. Once at the top, they both dropped their packs and turned to admire the view. John had never seen anything like it; it was spectacular. You could see for kilometres around. It was such a free feeling, to be out in the open air after living in a city for his whole life. John had known nothing but the buildings towering over him, trapping him in their shadows. Now he felt like he was on top of the world, looking out onto the horizon. Sherlock stretched out his hand and pointed out into the distance. He spoke softly,

"There it is. If you squint, you can see where I used to live." John was confused again. His confusion evaporated as the realization struck him like a brick in the face. He asked incredulously,

"You're from _France_? So that's how you know french! But what are you doing here, France was taken over by the Germans!" Sherlock let out a weak chuckle and said,

"I know, mate. That's why I'm here." Sherlock sounded exhausted when he spoke. John knew it wasn't from the climb; the light was gone from his ice-blue eyes.

"Let's walk a bit further, I don't want to sit next to the path." They walked on the edge of the tall cliffs and dropped their packs some 50 metres from the path. As they took a seat it the emerald-green grass, Sherlock began to open up again.

"Things are rough here in England, but they are worse in France. My father could tell that things were going to go from bad to worse, so he looked for a way to get us out. That's how I met Saprisi. He goes back and forth from France and England quite a bit to trade fish and other goods. My dad made a deal with him to smuggle our family out in his fish barrels. It would have worked too, if we hadn't been caught. There was a curfew, and one of the patrolling officers saw my family walking down the streets after dark. My father began to fight him so that my mother and my two brothers and I could escape. Only a few punches were exchanged between my dad and the guard before the guard got to his gun and shots were fired. I ran as fast as I could, but when I turned back, there was no one left standing. The guard was a good shot, and my whole family was lying on the ground, each in pools of their own blood." Sherlock paused to take a shaky breath. Tears were rolling down his face as he looked out to over the channel, not really seeing it. He was trapped in the horrible memory he was recounting to John.

"There was nothing I could do. The guard must have missed me in the confusion, because he didn't come searching for me. All of them were dead, John. I checked, but none of them were breathing." Sherlock put his face in his hands and cried. John wasn't sure what to do. So he slid by Sherlock's side and put an arm around him.

"You don't have to finish if you don't want to." Sherlock shook his head and wiped his runny nose on his sleeve.

"No, you need to know. So, at that point, I knew another guard was going to be passing by on patrol soon, so I ran as fast as I could to Saprisi's boat. I must have looked a right mess, he almost didn't recognize me with all of the blood I was covered in. After that night, he sort of took me in. He gave me new clothes and some food and dropped me off here in Dover until we could sort out a better situation. This was never the plan. I was supposed to be here with my family and be off. Saprisi is a good person though, he taught me how to fish and I can pass for his son. So he watches out for me, and I help him out and stuff. He was the one that thought of London. He makes stops there all the time, and it's quite easy to be homeless in a big city. It's a bit more difficult here by the cliffs, and Saprisi's cabin on the boat is a little too small for two of us to live in permanently." John was astounded. Sherlock had been through so much and it was painful to watch him retell his story; John could feel Sherlock's grief like a presence.

"Where do you sleep then?" Sherlock let out a chuckle at this question.

"Remember what I said when we first met?" He paused to sniffle and wipe his nose on his sleeve again. John took this opportunity to say,

"Yeah, you said I was slow." That got a smile out of Sherlock.

"Yeah, that too. No, when we were in the shelter, I said 'I'm not a real thief.' It's true, I don't steal things. I use my lockpicks to open up empty houses so I can sleep in them. I never stay in one spot any longer than a day, so that's why I saw you last night in the shelter. One of the houses close by was empty, so I picked the lock and fell asleep inside. When I heard the sirens, I took off running because I had no idea where the closest bomb shelter was. That's how I ran into you waiting outside. I guess we are all lucky that my tools never leave my pocket." he reached into his trousers and pulled out the famous lockpicks. He played with them for a moment before slipping them back into his trousers.

"Any more questions?" John had several, but he wasn't sure he wanted to press his new friend for answers so soon. To break the tension, he said,

"Yeah. Are you hungry? I still have my tin of pears in my bag." Sherlock smiled, pleased with the change of subject.

"Starving." John pulled out the tin and peeled back the top. They ate the pears together as they looked out over the water. They were sitting close to the edge of the cliff and John kept throwing stones over the edge so that he could watch them land on the beach far below them. When they were finished with the pears, they dangled their legs off the edge of the cliff. John said,

"I feel like I could fly up here." He regretted this statement almost instantly, because he saw Sherlock shift uncomfortably and heard him say,

"Sometimes I'm tempted to see if I can." _Oh_. John was worried and wanted to get his friend away from the cliff edge before he got any more ideas.

"Hey, do you want to read some more before Saprisi gets here?" Sherlock shook his head and pointed out to the channel again.

"No time for that. He's already here." John looked to where Sherlock was pointing and saw the little red ship making its way towards the shore.

"We should start packing up and making our way down, John. We shouldn't keep Saprisi waiting." With that, Sherlock stood up and made his way to the packs and began gathering their stuff. John soon followed, thanking Saprisi for his timely arrival; if Sherlock had tried anything else, John wasn't sure what he could do to stop him.

"You coming John?"

"Yes, Sherlock."


	6. Forbidden Food

As the two boys made their way towards the path that led down the cliff, John's brain was working overtime. Bits of information from what Sherlock had just told him bounced around inside his head and everything was beginning to slide into place. The french, the pained looks on his face, why he was so thin, why he went to a different bomb shelter every raid. Sherlock was homeless, parentless, sibilingless and had next to no way of getting food. The fact that really blew John away was that Sherlock lost all of this, _everything_, in a single night. His home, his mother, his father, his brothers; all of them gone as quickly as a breath of wind. All Sherlock had was Saprisi, and Sherlock was lucky to have him. Saprisi could have dropped Sherlock off on the beach here in Dover and said 'See ya, kid.' Saprisi could have been so much worse, but instead he took Sherlock in, like a family that he chose for himself. John could only imagine Sherlock's grief, wandering a new country alone, without a home, food, or family to go back to. He was honored that Sherlock trusted him enough to tell him all of this and that Sherlock and Saprisi considered him part of their makeshift family. John's thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock, who said,

"Shit. Something is wrong." John glanced over to Sherlock and saw him looking at his thin wrist, making a face at a small wristwatch. "He said that he'd be back in two and a half hours. It's only been one." Both of them looked out to the ship again. No sooner had they spotted the ship did they hear, loud and clear, the tolling of a bell.

_Ding,_

_Ding,_

_Ding. _

"Uh-oh. Three rings, That's bad news." This had obviously happened before; how else would Sherlock know this?

"What's wrong, Sherlock?" John didn't get an answer, all he got was,

"Get back up the path. We need to get to the top of the cliff, _without being seen_. Quickly!" John did as he was told and ran half-crouched back up the path to the top of the cliff. Once they were at the top, John made to stand up, but he was pulled back down into a crouch by Sherlock.

"Not yet, mate. We can stand once we are over the ridge."

"How come we don't want to be seen?" Sherlock waited until they were out of sight and could stand freely before he answered.

"Three rings means that he thinks he's being followed and he can't land on the beach."

"Why can't he land on the beach?" Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.

"Could be anything. Maybe whoever is following him figured out what he was doing and wants to hurt him or steal his goods or find his drop spot. The usual." John was still confused.

"What do you mean, 'the usual?' What is he doing that people want to hurt him, I thought that he was fishing." Sherlock grinned and said,

"'Fishing' is code. He does fish, but he's a smuggler for the most part. He brings over stuff that's been rationed mostly, like clothes and butter. I was an exception; he doesn't normally smuggle people out. He really shouldn't have brought me over, my dad was supposed to pay him when we arrived. I guess there was no going back once he learned what happened…" Sherlock trailed off, unable to finish what he was saying. John could almost picture Sherlock that night; covered in blood and crying as Saprisi held him in his arms, leaving bloodstains on the rumpled mattress.

"What do we do now? Do we wait for him here?" The question seemed to pull Sherlock out of his memory.

"No, he won't land here again today, this is one of his drop beaches and he doesn't want to reveal it. We'll meet him at the cove. No one has ever found us in there." John was very interested in Saprisi's smuggling business. It was stuff that John had only heard of in storybooks.

"You mean that he has more than one drop beach?" Sherlock began walking, making sure that they remained out of the sight of any observers in the channel as they did so.

"Yeah, it's best not to leave all of your eggs in one basket and some of the other beaches are pretty rocky. Why else would he have the metal prow? All of the smugglers have a beachable ship. Why else would you need a ship that could go on the land?"

"I have no idea why Saprisi has one, to be honest. I still don't get why he can't just go to a pier to get his smuggled stuff over here." Sherlock rolled his eyes before he continued,

"Everything is searched, even the barrels that are full of fish. He wouldn't be able to smuggle anything in that way, so he drops his goods on a beach where one of his contacts picks it up and pays him." Sherlock paused before adding, "When you are doing something illegal, you either have to be good or fast. There are slip-ups every now and again, so it's good to be fast. You saw how quickly Saprisi was in and out of here when he dropped us off." John saw the wisdom in this. They walked for a while in silence before he asked,

"So, where is this cove we are headed to?" Sherlock pointed out in the distance where there seemed to be a fissure in the cliffs.

"Just there. It's not that far away; like a 10 minute's walk." John squinted to where Sherlock was pointing and saw the cove he was talking about. It looked small; too small for a boat to squeeze through.

"Err...Sherlock? How is he going to get the boat in there?" Sherlock let out short laugh and said,

"I don't know how he does it, but he makes it work. I've even seen him do it in a gale. It was quite amazing, I thought I was going to die." It was John's turn to laugh.

"You mean you were _on_ the boat when he did it?" Sherlock nodded and John continued, "I never thought I was going to hear anyone say '_I thought I was going to die_' and '_that was amazing_' about the same experience."

"Yeah, well you are going to be saying that a lot now that you are hanging out with me. I seem to attract trouble." They exchanged smirks before glancing down to the ground. After a few minute's silence, Sherlock suggested,

"Hey, wanna see where Saprisi is? We can look over the edge of the cliff, we just have to inch up to the edge on our stomachs so only our heads pop out." John agreed and they dropped their packs and crawled on their stomachs until they reached the edge of the cliff. They peered out over the channel and saw Saprisi's boat making its way to the cove. Other than the little red boat, there were no others. Just a white-capped English Channel lied before them, staring them in the face. Sherlock broke the silence.

"Must have been a false alarm." John nodded.

"Better safe than sorry I guess."

"Yeah, that's true. We'll hear the whole story from Saprisi, I guess. Let's go, John." The two boys inched back to their packs. They hadn't had their packs shouldered for ten seconds before Sherlock shouted "Race ya!" and took off running.

"Not fair!" yelled John as he took off running. It was so nice to be running in all of this open space under the grey sky. He felt so free; the only time you ran flat-out in London was when one of the cops were chasing you. Sherlock beat him to the entrance to the cove; he was a good runner. John thought to himself _Maybe that is why he escaped that night from hell; he was able to outrun the guard with the gun_. John stood at Sherlock's side, both of them hunched over and panting from their race across the grass. Once they had gotten their breath back, they started laughing. Neither of them could remember the last time they had this much fun with someone their age.

"Where is the entrance to this cove?" John looked down into the cove where Saprisi was supposed to meet them. They had reached the fissure, but there was no visible path to the very, _very_ small beach within. John kicked a pebble over the edge and watched it fall for a whole minute before it landed landed with a small _thud_ on the beach below.

"Over here, just down the steps." Sherlock pulled back a shrub to reveal a set of rugged stairs hugging the wall of the cliff. To call them steps was a bit generous; they were really a bunch of rocks that happen to jut out farther than the rest of the wall.

"This isn't dangerous?" John was nervous. Some of those rocks looked like they were unstable at best.

"Oh, it's dangerous. But it's the only way down. Unless you are up for a swim?" John shook his head in response.

"No thanks, mate. I'll go down the stairs of death before I swim in any body of water in this temperature." He paused before adding, "Lead the way."

Sherlock danced from rock to rock like it was the easiest thing in the world. He would shout things back at John like, "Look out, this one is slippery!" or "Careful, some of them are wobbly. Wouldn't want you falling down from this high up!" At this remark, John looked down. He instantly regretted it. His head began to swim and he felt his knees grow weak. To fall from such a height would be very painful, if not deadly. It took all of his focus and concentration to not be sick and keep stepping from rock to rock. What seemed like an eternity later, John set foot on the rocky beach below. He dropped his pack and sat down, he still felt sick. Sherlock gave him a pat on the back and said,

"Took you long enough." Sherlock laughed and John cracked a smile.

"That was mental, that was." Sherlock sat next to John and said,

"Yeah, it was. But wasn't it fun?" John never got a chance to answer because Saprisi chose that moment to beach his boat.

"Come catch the anchor!" and with that, Saprisi threw an anchor off the front of the boat. Sherlock stood up and secured it in the sand and rocks as Saprisi jumped over the railing and sat next to John. Once he was finished, Sherlock came and joined the two of them. Now that they were all together sitting in a circle, Sherlock was the one to start the conversation.

"What happened, Saprisi? Why are you back so soon?" Saprisi ran his hand over his bushy beard; he looked exhausted.

"Had one of them uniformed bastards smelling around the docks. He smelt something fishy, so I didn't give him much time to poke around. I loaded up and came here fast as I could. I wasn't sure if they'd send out a patrol boat to search me, so I made my way here, quick as lightning." Sherlock seemed anxious. He knew that the guards were cruel and he didn't want Saprisi to end up in french prison. Saprisi and John were all he had and it pained him to think that he could lose Saprisi without a word. Sherlock asked,

"You got what you went for, yeah?" Saprisi smiled at this. He pulled out a small satchel that John had not noticed before and started rifling through it.

"Yeah, I got what I went for. I even got a little more than I bargained for." Out of his pack he pulled out some bacon, an egg, three slices of bread and a small jar of preserves. The boys' eyes were wide as they saw the food.

"I managed to barter for some food, and good stuff too. This is all rationed here in England. It's hard to get over there, but I know a guy." There mouths began to water as Saprisi pulled out a small little frying pan from the same bag the food had emerged from.

"Go on, go collect some wood. We can't eat this raw." The boys were in disbelief.

"We can have some?" John asked as he looked at the egg, small and as white as the cliffs behind them. Saprisi let out a hearty laugh.

"Of course! You guys are my family, why would I keep food from you? We are all a little thinner from the rationing, especially you two boys." They all shared a laugh before Saprisi said,

"Go on now, go get some wood! I'm hungry and this food isn't going to cook itself!" Sherlock and John scrambled to their feet, eager to gather the wood quickly so that they could eat sooner. Their bellies rumbled at the thought of the warm meal that lied in their near future. It wasn't a lot of food, but to them, it was a feast fit for a hobbit. And all of it rationed! Neither one had ever had so much food that was rationed in one sitting. Neither one of them probably would never do it again, at least until the war was over and the government stopped rationing goods. Since there was no end in sight however, the boys started to pile up the driftwood they found by Saprisi, who began to stack it up and blow a spark into a flame for which they could cook their forbidden food.


	7. So We Wait

They all sat around the small fire Saprisi had made from the driftwood, their bellies rumbling as they watched him cook. In the small pan sat the strips of bacon; as they popped and sizzled, the boys began talking about the last time either of them had eaten bacon.

"Last time I had bacon, it was last Christmas. My mum saved it all year and each of us got a bit for breakfast with our bread. It was fantastic." Saprisi let out one of his rolling laughs.

"How many people are living in your house, John? You talk like you've got all of London living in your front room." John replied,

"Well, my dad's off marching, but all of his brothers and sisters are here with their kids. My mum's parents are living with us too, but her sister is doing okay out in the country, so she only comes to visit every now and again. You can say that my house is pretty packed." Saprisi laughed again and said,

"So I _was_ right, you do have all of London living in your front room!" A couple of minute's silence passed by as they all watched the driftwood burn and listened to the lap of the waves on the shore and the sizzle of the bacon. Sherlock was the one to break the silence.

"Where do you sleep then? Sounds like there is no room for any privacy. Not that I'm one to talk about where I spend my nights, but at least I have the space all to myself." John smiled and said,

"Harriet and I sleep in the attic. No one ever comes up there." Saprisi took the pan off of the flames and put it into the sand so that it could cool a bit.

"Good lord, isn't that cold?" Sherlock asked this with genuine concern, and John laughed.

"Course it is, but mum gives us extra blankets."

"I've done that before, it's still really cold."

"Yeah, but my mum has bigger things to worry about. My aunts and uncles aren't the best at keeping a job, so my mum does her best to keep us fed." John paused before asking, "Speaking of food, is the bacon cool yet?" Saprisi touched the pan with his finger to feel how hot it was.

"Yep. Go ahead and eat, there's enough so that each of us can have three strips." They each took their share and began munching on it as Saprisi put the pan back in the flames so that he could cook the egg. There was silence as everyone ate their bacon; they made it last as long as they could since they weren't sure when they would have the chance to eat bacon again. They continued to eat as Saprisi cracked the egg into the pan. He poked the yolk with a small stick and swirled it in circles to spread it even. The boys were mesmerized as they watched Saprisi swirl the egg around and around until it was transformed from a soupy, yellow mess to a scrambled egg worthy even for Queen Elizabeth to eat. Once again, Saprisi removed the pan from the flames and set it in the sand so that it could cool; he didn't want the boys to burn their mouths. They all watched the entrance of the cove as the pan cooled; except for the grey sky and the wind and the cold temperature, it was a nice day out. Typical English weather, to say the least. They were all thankful that they were in the cove, where they had a fire and the wind had less effect. Saprisi started to pass out bits of the egg on seashells when he broke the silence.

"What time do you boys have to be home by?" Sherlock shrugged.

"I don't really have one, so never I guess." He looked at his bit of egg, not really sure he was still hungry for it.

"Sorry, Sherlock. You can come sleep in my cabin with me tonight, if you want. I have a sleeping bag somewhere in the storage space by the engine."

"That's alright, Saprisi. Thank you anyway." Saprisi motioned to John.

"How about you, mate?" John finished chewing his egg before he answered.

"I told my mum I'd be back before dark." The pan made its way back to the fire so that they could have toast.

"Good. We'll be off as soon as we are finished eating, I have nothing left here to do. That'll get you home in plenty of time." They sat in silence again, waiting for Saprisi to heat up the bread in the pan. John smiled to himself; this was the second time today that he would be having toast. It seemed like an eternity ago, but just this morning his mum had done very much the same thing; turned on the stove and waited for a pan to heat up. Except this time, John was sitting in front of a warm fire with friends _and_ he would have preserves on his toast. He much preferred this second chance, here he was with people he liked and he was warm and his belly was full. At home, he was surrounded by people who would make fun of him and, above all, it was cold. Bitterly so. It was miserable being so cold all the time; it was a nice change to sit in front of a warm fire next to people that cared about him. His mum cared of course, but John hated bothering her when he knew she had so many other people to worry about. She loved him with all of her heart but at the moment, she was just spread a bit thin. Everyone was spread a bit thin to be honest. John was pulled out of his reverie by Saprisi.

"Here ya go lads. Your toast with strawberry preserves." They each took their piece and enjoyed every last bite. Not a crumb was wasted; toast tasted so much better when it was slathered in sweetened strawberries. Saprisi put the little jar of preserves back in his pouch saying,

"We'll save the rest of this for another time." He gave them a hearty wink before filling the pan with sand and washing it out in the water. Sherlock and John stamped on what was left of the fire and waited by the anchor line for Saprisi. John was looking out of the small entrance of the cove when a thought struck him.

"Oh!" He jumped up like he had sat on a hot coal and ran to the edge of one of the cliff faces. He ran his fingers along the white chalk, looking for a loose rock.

"Oi! What are you doing, mate?" Sherlock called over from where he sat at the anchor. "What's so special over there?" John didn't answer until he got what he was looking for.

"Ah-ha!" His fingers had finally found a nice-sized rock that was loose. After removing it from the cliff, he brought it over to Sherlock to show him.

"Need a piece of the cliff to show my mum. She'll never believe I was here otherwise!" Sherlock got a laugh out of that.

"Okay, then. It's just a bit of white chalk, but whatever floats your boat." They smiled as John carefully packed away his prize in his pack.

"You boys ready to be off?" Saprisi's call came from on board the vessel. They failed to notice him jump on ship while they were discussing John's rock. "Throw back the anchor and give her a heave!" Just as before, they peeled off their shoes and socks. They tossed them up to Saprisi, along with their packs. As he stashed them in the cabin, the boys loosened the anchor and began to push. Saprisi was back and hauling the anchor on board as the boys struggled in the cold water. The cove was pretty rocky and the boat was now laden with contraband, so it took a bit longer to work her free from the shore. After a considerably larger effort than last time, the little red boat was floating freely. Only after they had liberated the boat from the shore did John realize that there was no way to board it from where they were standing below the railing.

"Err...Sherlock? Maybe I'm just being daft again-" Sherlock laughed.

"Probably."

"No, listen. How are we getting on? We already pushed him free!"

"Calm down, Saprisi wouldn't leave us behind. Isn't that right?" The last question was directed to Saprisi himself, whose head appeared over the railing.

"I'd never leave you hanging unless I had to. Here ya go." He threw a thick, knotted rope over the side and tied it fast to the rail. "Climb on up!" The boys did as they were told and the moment their feet hit the deck, they got busy putting their socks and shoes back on. Saprisi started the engine and said,

"Are you boys ready for the real adventure to begin? Time to squeeze back out of the cove." Saprisi took his spot behind the wheel and the two boys sat just outside, their backs the wooden wall that made up the front of the cabin. The ship turned around really slowly so that they were facing the exit. When they began to move forward John couldn't help but feel nervous. It was a good nervous, almost excited. That feeling deep in the pit of your stomach that seems to make you want to fly when the rest of your body is telling you to stay on the ground. It was fantastic and the feeling only grew larger as the boat got closer and closer to the exit. Saprisi, slowly but surely, made it through the opening without so much as a scratch on the red paint. To John, it was a miracle; he could've reached out over the rail with his hand and touched the cliff.

Back out in the channel and the open air, the wind and spray chilled the boys faster than if they had been sailing in the arctic. Opening the door to the little cabin, John exclaimed,

"You're a wizard, Saprisi! No one else can pull off what you did back there!" Sapris let out a laugh before saying,

"Thank you, John. Am I as good as Gandalf the Grey?" Sherlock scoffed.

"You said you wouldn't talk about _The Hobbit_ until we finished it!" Saprisi put one muscled arm around Sherlock's waist and held him tight as he rumpled his hair.

"I'm not giving anything away now, am I?" He released Sherlock, who immediately tried, and failed, to put his hair back into place. He couldn't help smiling when he said,

"Not really." They all laughed at Sherlock's response. Saprisi got his senses back first and said,

"Well then, since we've been out here...erm…"fishing," I guess we have to bring back some fish. I have some extra stuff for you to wear in the storage space so that you won't get too wet. Let's get to work!" Saprisi headed to get the extra equipment he spoke of as the boys headed outside to the stern of the vessel. This is where all of the fishing equipment lied, along with a few new barrels, which John knew were filled with contraband. He lifted a lid and peered inside; each was only filled half-way with goods. Each of them also reeked of fish. He pulled his face out of the smell as quickly as possible with an "Urg!" Sherlock laughed and pat him on the back as he said,

"Something the matter, mate?" with a sarcastic tone. John was rubbing just below his nose, hoping that would drive the awful smell out of his nose faster.

"Why does it smell like fish? It's just cheese and clothes and stuff." Sherlock pointed to the net lying on the deck at the very edge of the stern.

"Course it does! We catch fish with that net there and then," He paused as he popped a lid off a barrel, "We fill these up with fish! That's why it's only filled half-way, we put fish on top of it so it looks like it's a proper fish barrel." John was beginning to put the pieces together. It was all very clever.

"Oh! It's like how Bilbo sneaked the dwarfs out of the elvish prison! Right under the king's nose!" Saprisi chose that moment to come out of the cabin with the extra equipment. He gave John a big pat on the back and said,

"Exactly so, my boy. Let's get you two dressed." Sherlock popped the lid back on the barrel and began dressing up for fishing. John had never seen clothing like it before, but he had also never spent a lot of time with fisherman. Saprisi brought each of them what looked like a pair a faded green overalls. Except these overalls had a pair of rubber boots attached to the legs. It was the strangest thing John had ever seen; why would someone go to the trouble of making a pair of overalls with boots attached? John noticed Saprisi was wearing a pair of these strange overalls, and Sherlock was quickly putting on another smaller pair. Unsure of how to wear it, he watched Sherlock put on the pair he was given and did as he observed. He noticed that Sherlock took off his shoes and just...slipped it on over the clothes he was already wearing. It was strange, seeing his friend in the faded green overalls. What was the point of them? John did as he was told though, and slipped off his shoes and put on the strange article of clothing. As he was fastening the shoulder straps to the front bib, Saprisi said,

"I guess I'm lucky, really, that I had two pairs in your guy's size. I originally only bartered for one pair, because I only planned on Sherlock helping me out, but the man seemed to want to be rid of the smaller sizes. You know me, I'm never one to pass up a good deal." He clapped his bear-sized hands together before saying, "Let's get to work!" All of them in their green overalls headed to the stern and began tying and untangling the ropes and nets. John did his best to remember all of the knots Sherlock was showing him, but it was a lot of information to take in all at once. _Loop here, left over right, pull tight, loop again, _it was a lot to remember. He wasn't sure how Sherlock remembered it all. Before he knew it though, after a few frantic moments of tugging and pulling on the ropes, the net was ready to go. Saprisi threw it over the edge into the water where it landed with a large _splash_. John made to avoid the spray, but he was too slow and it got all over the green overalls Saprisi had lent him. Expecting to get wet, John was quite surprised when he felt the water hit him but didn't feel it seep through the fabric. He ran his hand over the material, slick with sea spray and exclaimed,

"It's waterproof!" Saprisi let out one of his roaring laughs and Sherlock smiled and said,

"No shit, of course it is." Saprisi gave him a pat on the back and said,

"We certainly dont wear them as a fashion statement. This shade of green certainly isn't my color." All of them laughed for a good minute before John asked,

"So that's why it has a pair of boots attached to the end of the legs? So I can step in some deep water and not get wet?" Saprisi answered,

"Yes, my boy. You are waterproof all the way up to the top of the bib. I could dip you into the water up to your chest and you would still be as dry as when you put it on." Now John could see why they were wearing this gear; if they were going to be spending a lot of time heaving nets and sorting fish, it was probably best to do so in waterproof clothing. In the cold and the wind, spending any duration of time outside would be miserable without these overalls.

"So, what do we do now?" Now that the net was in the water, he wasn't sure what was going to happen next. Saprisi answered him.

"I'm going to go start up the engine and we'll begin making our way home. As we move, the net will catch some fish and when it gets full, I'll help you and Sherlock heave it on board and sort out the little fellas." John asked,

"So we wait?" Sherlock sat down at the edge of the stern, dangling his legs over the edge, looking out on the water. He said,

"So we wait." Saprisi nodded in agreement and made his way back to the wheel so that he could steer the little red vessel. Meanwhile John took a seat next to Sherlock and they sat overlooking the water together in their faded green overalls.


	8. Lines of Fish

"Let's go, boys! Get ready for action!" Saprisi cut the engine and came out of the cabin shouting, "Time to pull up the net!" Sherlock and John got up from their spot on the edge of the stern as Saprisi began loosening some ropes and untying others. Sherlock began doing the same while John stood, observing. Soon enough, all the ropes were set and ready: it was time for the net to come out of the water. Saprisi held tight to a rope identical to the one Sherlock was putting into John's hands.

"So now, on Saprisi's count, we're going to pull up the net. It's going to be heavy, so be ready." Sherlock stood right behind John, hands on the rope.

"Ready for what?" Sherlock smiled.

"A lot of fish." Saprisi chose that moment to shout, "Heave!" and with that, the three of them were hauling in a heavy, sodden net on board. Saprisi kept shouting "Heave, ho! Heave, ho!" and with each heave, they tugged in a little bit more rope. The rope was a long one since the net was a trawl, so John's arms got tired quickly. The pain did not stop him though; if anything it drove him to be better. He didn't want to let down his new friends.

John noticed that as Saprisi brought in the rope, he laid it down on the deck behind him in a neat coil. Looking back at Sherlock between the tugs, John saw that he was doing the same.

"Why...are you...doing that?" John asked between each heave of the rope.

"Doing what? We're pulling in the net, I thought we already established that."

"No, why are you putting it in a circle?" Sherlock paused as he carefully lied the new length of wet rope into his well-established coil.

"So it doesn't tangle, see? Just be careful not to step on the inside of the circle, you don't want to wrap a rope around anything you want to keep." John smiled at first, but then made a face when he thought about the entirety of what Sherlock told him.

"Wait...you mean people can lose limbs and stuff from rope?" Saprisi let out a laugh and said,

"Aye, it's true. The fella that docks his little blue ship next to me at the wharf lost a few fingers when a rope got wrapped around them. The rope was attached to a net that was thrown overboard."

"And that's not the worst!" Sherlock exclaimed. "When I lived in France, the man who my dad bought crabs from lost a foot when he got his ankle wrapped up!" Sherlock paused for a moment and said very seriously, "And my brother's friend's father was dragged under when his wrist got caught up in the rope of a harpoon. The harpoon stuck and the whale dragged him under…" They all sat in a sober silence for a moment, tugging in their catch and imagining the terrible fate of the whaler. The stiff silence was eventually broken by Saprisi.

"Here we go boys, you can stop pulling her in, but don't let go of the rope! John, hold tight; Sherlock, come take my rope as I pull her out of the water". Sherlock did as he was told as took the rope from Saprisi. Once Saprisi was relieved of his rope, he walked over to the stern and leaned over the edge to grab the net. Saprisi is a strong man, but it took all of his effort to pull the net on board. It made its way onto the deck with a large _splosh. _Now that their catch was out of the water, John and Sherlock dropped their ropes to help Saprisi drag the net closer to the barrels. A couple of untied knots later and the deck was covered in slimy, wriggling fish, all gasping for breath. The net was now free from all ropes and useless from this point forward. Saprisi began folding it while Sherlock and John hung up the coils of rope. Once all of the equipment was away, it was time to attend to the fish. Saprisi clapped his colossal hands together and said,

"So! Are you boys ready to sort the fish?" John nodded nervously. They were wading through fish up to their ankles; they had to sort all of them?

"Saprisi, you can start up the engine again if you want. I can show John how we sort out the fish." Saprisi tousled Sherlock's hair again as he said, "Of course. I think I like having two of you around; we get stuff done faster." As Saprisi opened the cabin door, he turned around and added, "Happy sorting, boys!" John watched him disappear into the cabin. Once he was out of sight, he turned to Sherlock and asked,

"We are going to sort through _all _ of the fish?" He said this as he gestured to the carpet of fish squirming at their feet. Sherlock smiled and said,

"Yeah, but don't worry, it won't take as long as you think it will. We'll have them all sorted before we even get back to London." Sherlock walked over to the barrels and carefully popped each of the lids off. He then walked back to where John was standing in the middle of the deck and got on his knees as he gestured for John to do the same. He began rifling through the fish as he explained,

"You see, we do everything by size since we only seem to catch one species of fish where we go. All of the big ones," he held up a fish for John to see, "go in this barrel." Sherlock then tossed the fish with amazing accuracy; it landed in the barrel closest to the stern. Sherlock continued with, "and the littler fish," he held up another fish so that John could see the size of it, "go in the other barrels." This fish was tossed with just as much accuracy as the last; it landed in the barrel farthest away from the first. "It doesn't really matter which barrel the littler fish end up in as long as they don't end up in the big barrel. The big fish get their own special barrel since they will sell for more and there will only be a few. You think you got it?" John nodded as they felt the rumble of the engine starting below them - Saprisi got it started. Saprisi steered them home as the boys kneeled in fish, throwing them into barrels. It was quite fun, once you got the hang of it. They played games to pass the time: who could find five big fish first, who could make three good throws in a row, who could throw two at a time and still make it in a barrel. The games they played were fun, but the day was cold and windy and their faces were chapped from spending the majority of the day out in the elements. The boys were about halfway through sorting the fish when John noticed that a bit of the deck by Sherlock was stained red. John thought it was the fish at first, but he gasped when he looked at Sherlock's face and saw that the cut from last night had reopened and was oozing fresh blood. Sherlock heard the gasp and asked,

"What's the matter? Did you poke yourself on one of their spines? They get me all the time." John gestured to his face.

"Your cheek! It's bleeding again." Sherlock rubbed his sleeve's edge over the wound and when he pulled his hand away he saw the bloodstain his cut had left on his threadbare shirt. He grimaced and muttered,

"Shit." He glanced down and noticed the blood on the deck next to him for the first time. He met John's eyes and John quickly jumped into action, just as he had the night before in the bomb shelter. Except this time he wasn't tearing a blanket for bandages; he ran to the cabin and summoned Saprisi. Saprisi was outside crouching among the fish and looking at Sherlock's wound before he even had the chance to argue.

"I'm fine Saprisi, let me go!" He was trying to push Saprisi away, but the bear of a man was strong.

"Hold still! I can't fix you if you're as squirmy as these fish!" Sherlock continued to struggle as he said,

"J'ai coupe ma joue hier, ce n'est pas grave!" At this statement, Saprisi made a face and said,

"What do you mean it's not a big deal? When did you cut it?" Sherlock stopped struggling and muttered,

"Last night." Saprisi made a sound of surprise and said,

"Last night! What were you doing out, there were bombs falling from the sky!" Sherlock let out a chuckle.

"Thanks, as if I didn't already know. I was running to find a shelter when some shrapnel hit me. Everything else is fine, just my cheek is banged up." Saprisi was astounded.

"You could have died out there!"

"What was I supposed to do, stay inside and wait for a bomb to fall on me? I took a chance and ran. Thankfully I found John, who let me in the shelter his family normally stays in. I spent the rest of the night there, underground. _I was fine._" At this statement, Saprisi looked to John, who nodded in confirmation.

"It's true Saprisi. He saved us all actually. He's the one that picked the lock to the shelter since installed a deadbolt and left if locked." Saprisi looked back to Sherlock and after a moment pulled him into one of his famous bear hugs. He put him back down on the deck, ruffled his hair and said,

"Good work, son." Both of them smiled and after a moment Saprisi continued on with, "I hate to admit it, but it looks like you're right; it's not too serious. The cut looks ugly, but it's not deep. Just wait here while I get some petroleum jelly to keep it from getting chapped again." Sherlock grimaced at the words "petroleum jelly," but there was no arguing with Saprisi.

"C'mere you slimy scoundrel." Saprisi emerged from the cabin with a small tub of the stuff and slathered Sherlock's face with it. Without a warning, Saprisi turned around and spread some petroleum jelly all over John's face too.

"Erg! This is gross." Saprisi rubbed the excess petroleum from his hands onto the pant of his green overalls.

"I don't want your face chapping up too. It's for good measure." Now that the boys' faces were greased up and wind-protected, Saprisi was satisfied and made his way back inside. Behind the wheel again, he steered them home as they sorted out the remaining fish.

The sun was past the zenith, but still high in the sky when the all of the fish were sorted and the little red ship was docked safely at the wharfs. Back in the dirty Thames in the heart of London, Saprisi tied off the last dock line. The ship was secure and the boys on board were stripping off the green overalls and stowing them away. While they were collecting their packs in the cabin, Saprisi quickly cut two lengths of string and picked a few fish from the barrels. The boys were jumping off board and waving goodbye when he said,

"Wait one moment! You think you can leave without giving me a proper goodbye?" Saprisi traversed the space between them with three long strides and pulled them into one of his bear hugs. He dropped them back on the dock and said, "Hold on a minute, I got something for you." The boys waited for him, rubbing their ribs which still hurt from his hug.

"Here ya go." Saprisi came back with two lines of fish; one for John and one for Sherlock. As he passed them to the boys, John noticed that his line had a few more fish than Sherlock's. Before he could even ask the question, Saprisi answered it for him.

"I gave you a few more since you said your mama has all of those people to feed. I hope it's enough." With that, John hugged Saprisi right around the belly. Saprisi gave him a pat on the head as he heard a muffled "Thank you" come from somewhere around his navel.

"It's my pleasure, son. You helped me out today and I really appreciate it." John pulled away and stood next to Sherlock, who said,

"We'll see you soon Saprisi? Maybe not tomorrow, but again this week?"

"Anytime you want to come, you are welcome. À bientôt!" With their line of fish in hand, the boys began making their way home.


	9. Saint Among Men

The two boys found themselves at 's mailbox a lot sooner than they expected; for some reason the return journey felt shorter than the one they took that very same morning. Neither one of them was quite ready to say goodbye, so John suggested,

"Do you want me to walk you home?" Sherlock glanced down at the line of fish that was still in his hand; he was gently swinging the line back and forth.

"I know where it is, mate. Do you want me to walk _you_ home?" John shook his head.

"No, I should make sure you get home. If for some reason I don't make it home, my mother will be looking for me. If you don't make it home, no one will know." John saw Sherlock smile before he added, "And you promised that you would show me your violin." Sherlock met John's eyes as he said,

"Okay, let's go. It's not far." Sherlock led John down a few rubble-filled streets and soon enough, John found himself in familiar territory. A block from his own home, Sherlock led John to a house that was barely a hop, skip and a leap away from his own.

"You picked a house right by mine!" Exclaimed John.

"Yeah, well I didn't have to run far to find the shelter you guys were in that night. If I wasn't somewhat close, I wouldn't have happened upon you guys queuing up next to the locked door." John thought about this as Sherlock made quick work of the lock. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges and the boys stepped inside. They hung their fish on the line of hooks meant for coats as made their way down the narrow hall. The house was small and cramped like the rest of the houses in the neighborhood. The main room could have been cozy if it weren't for the fact that the room was so cold that the boys' breath rose in plumes from their mouth as they breathed. Sherlock dropped his pack in the corner as he said,

"Let's get this fire started." He piled wood in the fireplace and began to light a fire as John looked at the corner where Sherlock dropped his pack. This corner is where Sherlock seemed to keep all of his possessions. There wasn't a lot, as far as John could see, just an oddly-shaped black case and a quilt. It made sense, if Sherlock was moving house from night to night he wouldn't have a lot of stuff since he would have to carry it. It startled John to see how little his friend had, though. John didn't have a lot either, but at least he had a safe place to sleep at night. John sat on the floor next to the small pile of stuff as Sherlock finished up lighting the fire. Sherlock held his hands over the flames, warming them as John said,

"Sherlock? Is this all of your stuff?" Without taking his gaze off of the flames, Sherlock replied,

"Yep." He moved away from the fire and began untying the straps of his pack. Without ceremony, he dumped out all of its contents. "This is all I own." Out of the pack tumbled a small metal pot, a folded handkerchief, a tin of soup, and two little wooden fish. He grabbed the pot and said, "Want some hot milk? I bought some yesterday, it's it the kitchen." John nodded yes and as Sherlock ducked into the kitchen, John scooted closer to the warm fire. Back with the milk, Sherlock poured some in the pot and laid it next to the fire. John gave him a quizzical look before he explained,

"I'm already squatting, I don't want to use their stove too." John nodded as he understood. As the milk heated up, Sherlock began explaining each of the items.

"One of the fish is from my dad, he gave it to me when I was younger. It was my first time to the wharfs, so he bought it from one of the vendors there. The other fish is from Saprisi. He gave it to me when he brought me to London for the first time. He thought I should have a fish for every major port I've been to." He then began unfolding the handkerchief. Within the folds were old, worn pictures. He passed these to John and began explaining as he pointed out the figures in the photos. "These are the only pictures I have of my family. This one is my mum, and here is my father, and my brothers…" Sherlock trailed off as he turned to check the milk in front of the fire. John saw a family of five; a stern-looking father, a care-worn mother and three children. Picking Sherlock out of the three was elementary, he was the only one with a dark, curly mop of hair. His other two brothers had straight hair that was lighter in color, similar to their mother's. As he glanced through the pictures, he noticed a newer, less worn photo.

"Hey! This one is of you and Saprisi!" Sherlock smiled at this.

"Yeah. I like that one the best. The fisherman that's missing a few fingers that I told you about took that one for us. Hey!" Sherlock exclaimed as a thought struck him. "Next time we are at the docks, we'll get him to take a picture of all of us! You, me and Saprisi!" Sherlock was absolutely glowing at this idea.

"Yeah, I really like that idea. Does Saprisi have a camera?" Sherlock nodded as he said,

"He bartered for one a while ago. Want some milk?" He offered John a sip from the pot, warm from the fire. "Sorry, I don't have cups." John took a sip and said,

"Don't worry about it. Are you warm in here at night?" John passed the bowl to Sherlock, who said,

"Yeah, I sleep by the fire. I also have my quilt." He pulled out the quilt John had seen folded in the corner before. Once it was unfolded, he saw that the quilt was a beautiful blue, covered in fish of all colors and patterns. "My mom made it for me. We each had our quilts in our packs the night that we were supposed to escape…" Sherlock didn't finish the sentence. To change the subject, John asked,

"Can I see your violin?" Sherlock next pulled the black case closer to himself and opened it to reveal a violin, just as worn as the rest of his possessions. He picked up the bow, tucked the violin under his chin, and began scraping the bow across the strings. What John heard was beautiful. Sherlock was a natural, he had John mesmerized with his talent. They sat in front of the fire, John listening to the beautiful music and Sherlock lost in the notes of the song as he pulled the bow back and forth over the strings. The song was over too soon for John's liking, but when it ended, he breathed,

"That was amazing." Sherlock smiled gratefully. He began to put the violin away as he said, "Thanks. I love playing." Once it was packed and away, the boys passed the warm milk back and forth, staring into the fire. The friendly silence was broken by Sherlock, who gasped. John was so startled that he almost spilled what was left of the milk.

"What's wrong? You nearly gave me a heart attack!" Sherlock only replied with,

"Sunset." John was confused. Sherlock continued with, "You said you told your mum that you would be home before dark." John glanced out of the window at this statement.

"Oh!" He passed the milk back to Sherlock and picked up his bag. Sherlock made to get up too, but John said, "No, I said I was walking you home. Promise you will stay here tonight?" Sherlock made a face and said,

"But I slept here last night." John shook his head.

"So? One more night won't hurt. I need to be able to find you tomorrow if you are coming to dinner." The corners of Sherlock's mouth turned up as he said,

"Fine. But I'll walk you to the door, I need to lock it when you leave." It was a short walk down the hall to the front door. John picked his line of fish off of a hook and turned to bid Sherlock goodbye. Before he could say anything though, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and said, "See you tomorrow." All John could think of was,

"See you then. I'll come and get you." before Sherlock released him. Free from the embrace, John turned and made his way out into the street. He spun around and waved as he saw Sherlock close the door and heard the click of the deadbolt. It was only a short walk before John found himself in front of his own front door. Opening it and stepping inside, he saw his entire extended family sitting about, but he only had eyes for his mother. Not wanting to interrupt his mother's conversation, he waited patiently at the door to the kitchen. She was arguing with one of her sisters-in-law.

"Well, maybe if you could hold down a job, you could chip in to the heating bill. Until then, you are going to have to find more blankets to sleep with." This particular aunt of John's was rather stubborn. She replied with,

"But Marie is sleeping in front of the fireplace! Why can't we switch out and take turns?" John's mother gave her a stern look before saying,

"Marie delivered a baby less than a fortnight ago. I don't see you popping out a baby and getting a telegram on the same day." Marie had a husband fighting in the war. She gave birth to her baby and received a telegram saying that her husband, Mark, was killed in action all in the same day. That day in the Watson house was intense to say the least; all John could remember was Marie screaming; first from the pain of childbirth then with mirth at the news that she would never see her husband again and the fact that her child would never know his father. Of all the aunts and uncles, John liked Mark and Marie the best. They were the only ones that treated him well besides his mother, and when he heard that Uncle Mark would be returning in a casket, he cried all night.

"This conversation is over. I need to talk to John." This was cue for the aunt to leave, and she took it. Now that John was alone in the kitchen with his mother, her face lit up with a smile. She bent down and asked him,

"How was your day, honey? You have to tell me all about it! I'm so excited to hear about your friend too." Before he said anything, John passed his mother the line of fish. He said,

"It's from my other friend. I have two friends now. He gave me some fish for helping him out on his boat." John's mother took the fish and gave him a big hug.

"This is perfect! We'll have them for dinner tonight." With that, she took out her famous pan with a _crash_ and turned on the stove. John began telling her about his day as he took a seat in the chair closest to the stove.

"I went to Dover today!" John's rudest uncle chose that moment to walk into the kitchen and say,

"No you didn't." John began digging through his pack as he exclaimed,

"Yes I did! I can prove it!" He unwrapped the chalk he had collected earlier that day and placed it on the table for his mother and uncle to see. His uncle grunted and said,

"Damn, you sure did. The real question is how you got there. Who's boat did you sneak on, huh?" He was getting hostile and flustering John. John blushed as he struggled to string words together to defend himself.

"No-no one's! I made a friend and his mate took us-"

"Don't lie to me, you've never mentioned a friend before yesterday and now this mysterious friend is taking you to Dover? I don't believe a word-" John's uncle was interrupted by his sister-in-law. She pointed to the doorway and said in a stern voice,

"Leave. Now." The uncle left and walked through the door into the main room with the fireplace. No sooner had he left did say.

"Sorry, sweetie. Tell me all about Dover. Are the cliffs really made of chalk?" As she fried the fish John brought back, he told her all about Dover and fishing with Saprisi and his little red boat that passed through the entrance of the cove without a scratch. When it came to Sherlock though, he paused in his story. He wasn't sure if Sherlock wanted his mother to know all about his past. noticed this uneasy pause and said,

"What's the matter, dear? Don't you want to tell me about Sherlock?" At the mention of his name, John broke out in tears. Through a veil of tears and a very runny nose, John managed to convey Sherlock's whole story to his mother. That night filled with blood, how Saprisi took him in, where he was sleeping each night; all of it spilled forth from John's mouth. By the time he was finished, had shed a tear too. She pulled John into a hug and ran her hand over the back of his head. John heard her whisper,

"Tomorrow, when he comes for dinner, I'll ask him to sleep here, with us. How does that sound?" John pulled away from her embrace and looked at her with eyes wide with amazement. "I know you and Saprisi are his chosen family, but why does he have to sleep alone? He won't take up much space, he can sleep with you in the attic. I have some extra blankets in the-" She was cut off by John, who pulled her into another hug. "Thank you, mum. He's just so _alone_." She placed a kiss on top of his head.

"No problem, sweetie. It'll be nice to see you happy among all of these people. Ever since your father was called to march, you've been so sad." It was true. John loved his dad with all of his heart and he thought about him every day. He missed his dad so much that sometimes we woke up calling his name, forgetting that he was far off, fighting a war. John put on a weak smile and said,

"Thanks, mum." They broke their embrace as turned back to the stove to finish frying up the fish.

"And don't worry about the extra blankets or the food. That's _my_ job. When you see Sherlock tomorrow, tell him to thank his friend that gave you the fish. I can't remember the last time we had fish for dinner." John could remember; it was his father's last meal before he left. The house was less crowded and more friendly. It was his father's favorite thing to eat and he requested it as a sort of 'last meal.' It was a happy memory for John and the smell of the frying fish brought a smile to his face as he remembered his father. John began setting the table as he said,

"Don't worry mum, I'll tell Saprisi thanks myself. One day you should meet him. He's a nice man, I think you'll like him." John's mother replied with,

"You're right, I think I would like him. Any man willing to take in a child that is not his own, especially after a tragedy like Sherlock's, is bound to be a good person. He also gave you boys fish; he wants you to be well fed and knows that in times like these you probably aren't getting enough to eat. So far, this man sounds like a saint among men." John laid a few plates on the table before he said,

"Even though he's a smuggler?" nodded and said,

"Even though he's a smuggler." The entire extended Watson family ate well that night, all thanks to John. The only people to thank him properly besides his mother were Harriet and his aunt Marie with the baby. He didn't mind though; as he went to bed that night, he pulled his patched blanket over himself and said a quiet thanks, first to Saprisi for the fish and the full belly. The second thanks was to Sherlock, who was John's first great source of happiness since his father left and who was John's first friend. He fell asleep with a full belly and smile on his face, the first time since the war had started.


	10. Dinnertime

John woke up to the sound of his mother pulling her pan out of the cabinet. He heard the all-famous _crash_ and took it as his cue to wake up for the day. He began dragging frayed jumpers and holey shirts over his head and made his bed before he made his way down the flights of creaky wooden steps. John arrived at his seat at the kitchen table just in time to hear his mother and aunt Margaret continue the argument they were having the previous night.

"Listen Margaret, _I don't give a rotting rat's ass_ if you were cold last night, _you_ don't help pay any bills. You can either find some blankets, get a job, or leave if you think you can find somewhere else that is warmer." John's aunt Margaret rolled her eyes as she got up and left the kitchen. John and his mother were now alone and his mother continued with, "Marie and the baby need the heat more, don't you think?" John nodded in agreement.

"Yes mum. Aunt Margaret can leave if she wants, no one is forcing her to stay here but herself." John's mother smiled at this and walked over to him to place a kiss on the top of his head.

"Good morning, sweetie."

"Good morning, mum."

"Don't forget, tonight Sherlock is coming over for dinner. Make sure he brings his stuff when he comes. You don't have to ask him to sleep here if it makes you uncomfortable, I'll do that, but make sure he brings his possessions. That way you boys don't have to leave again to go get them." John was still a little worried that Sherlock might not want to stay. Not because that he didn't like John, but because he knew that Sherlock would worry that he would take up space at the Watson residence or take their food unnecessarily.

"Mum, what if-" John was interrupted by his mother, who slid him his plate of warm bread.

"Don't you worry, I'll convince him to stay. I'll be damned if I knew your friend was sleeping alone in empty houses when he could be here. It's not much warmer, but he'll be safer." She paused before adding, "I can act as his mother since his own can't keep him safe anymore. I know Saprisi does the same with you. We all need an extra set of eyes on us to keep us a little bit safer in times like these." John ate his bit of toast and returned his plate to the kitchen sink. As he buttoned up his coat he said,

"I'm leaving, mum. I know it's early but I'm going to go see how he is. I'll be back before dinner."

"Yes dear. Don't forget to make sure he brings his stuff." John nodded as he said,

"Yes mum. See you later." After a quick hug from his mother, John headed down the hall and made his way out of the door and into the street. A small minute passed by before John found himself knocking at the door of the house Sherlock spent the night in.

_Knock, _

_knock,_

_knock. _ There was no answer. John got worried and pounded on the door again with his fist.

"Sherlock! It's me. Open up!" Soon enough, after another minute of knocking, a sleepy-eyed, tousle-haired Sherlock pulled the door open.

"Chill, mate. I was sleeping." John breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sorry, I just got worried." Sherlock stood aside and John walked in.

"You sound like Saprisi. _I'm fine_. Speaking of Saprisi, I have to go see him again today, is that okay?"

"Yeah. My mum just said that we just have to be back for dinner." Sherlock began folding up his quilt and stuffing it in his pack as he said,

"Great. We'll leave as soon as I'm finished packing." He stood up, shouldered his pack, then put it back down. He noticed that John didn't have his own pack and said,

"I'll leave this stuff here, we'll be quick. I'll come pick it up before we head to your house. Is it okay if I bring my stuff with me?" Sherlock glanced to the ground; he was nervous that John wouldn't approve. He wasn't nervous for long though, John quickly replied with,

"Of course! That would be great." Sherlock smiled and said,

"Thanks. Let's be off then." The two boys made their way down the hall and out the door. Sherlock had no sooner put the deadbolt back in place with his lockpicks than he said "Race ya!" and took off down the street. John followed, and the boys ran all the way to the wharfs.

They arrived a panting, sweaty mess. Sherlock made it to Saprisi's boat first, but John wasn't too far behind. They were panting pretty heavily, hunched over with their hands on their knees. The air was biting; they could see their breaths on the salty air each time they exhaled. Saprisi stepped offboard as he said,

"Look at the lot of you, you look like a bunch of old men hunched over and wheezing like this!" He let out one of his big, hearty laughs and pulled them into a hug. He released them, tousled their hair and said,

"I just saw you scoundrels yesterday. Are you alright? Do you need something? I'm glad to see you, but it's unusual to see you two days in a row." Sherlock shook his head.

"Is seven-finger-Delmar here?" Saprisi gestured to the blue boat tied up next to his own.

"Should be, his vessel is here. Why do you need Delmar?" Sherlock leaned over the railing of the blue ship and rapped on the glass.

"Delmar! We need a favor!" Sherlock turned back to Saprisi and said, "Do you still have the camera?" Saprisi's eyes widened as he understood what was going on.

"I'll go get it." Saprisi hopped on board and disappeared into the cabin of his little red ship. As he vanished, the mysterious seven-finger-Delmar emerged from his own cabin with a grumble.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" The wrinkled old man seemed to be as old as time, and true to his name, had only seven fingers. John couldn't contain himself when he exclaimed,

"Hey! _You_ are the one Sherlock told me about! You lost your fingers when they got caught up in a rope!" Delmar rolled his eyes and grumbled,

"Great, you brought along a friend. What do you want, Sherlock?" The old man has obviously been bothered by Sherlock many times before. Delmar leaned against the railing of his ship as Sherlock said,

"We just need you to take our picture." The old man scoffed.

"Again? I took a picture of you and Saprisi just the other day." Sherlock rolled his eyes as he explained,

"Delmar, that was over a _month_ ago. Anyway, this picture is different. It will have me, Saprisi, _and_ John in it." Saprisi returned with the camera and began passing it over to Delmar, who said,

"Who the bloody hell is John?"

"Me!" said John indignantly.

"Oh." was the only reply from the old man. "Get together, quickly now! I don't have all day!" The three of them posed for a picture, which was taken by Delmar. John heard three snaps from the camera before he felt Sherlock and Saprisi relax. John was still a little confused as to what was going on, so he asked,

"Wait, why did he take three pictures of us?" Saprisi took the camera back from Delmar as Sherlock said,

"I told you yesterday when I was showing you my stuff that we would take a picture with Saprisi. Delmar took three, one for each of us when they are developed." Comprehension hit John like a wave.

"Oh!" Sherlock turned to Delmar, who was still leaning on the railing of his ship, and said,

"Thank you Delmar." The man made of wrinkles grunted and replied with,

"No problem. Just don't wake me up next time." He turned to go back into his cabin and Sherlock scoffed.

"It's nearly noon!" Delmar grunted again as he slammed the door to his cabin, disappearing from sight. "Don't worry about him, he's always that grumpy." John nodded as Sherlock continued with, "We'll see you later Saprisi?" The large and muscled smuggler had returned from placing the camera back in his cabin.

"Sure thing. Stay safe you two." John remembered his conversation with his mother from the night previous and said,

"Oh, Saprisi, my mom said thanks for the fish." A smile appeared on Saprisi's face as he said,

"No problem, laddie. See you soon." One last hair tousling from Saprisi and they were off. The return journey was quick; they didn't race back but instead spent the trip discussing _The Hobbit_. It had captured their imagination like no other book could. Poor boys living on the rough side of London city, an adventure and a promise of gold awaiting them at journey's end was the perfect dream.

"Could you imagine all of that gold? What would you buy with it?" John thought for a minute before he answered the question.

"I would buy my mum a nice house. A warm one so that when my father comes back from his marching orders, he won't have to be cold. He likes to give his extra blanket to me." John still slept with his father's extra blanket. It was like having a bit of his father with him, keeping him warm and protecting him from afar. In John's mind, as long as he slept with the blanket each night, his father would be safe, wherever he was fighting. "What would _you_ buy?"

"A dog." Sherlock answered immediately. John couldn't help but laugh.

"You don't need all the money in the world to buy a dog, mate." Sherlock kicked at a pebble in the road as he said,

"Yeah, I guess you're right. My mum would never let me get one though. Maybe now that I'm alone…" He lapsed into a thoughtful silence as he thought about dogs and dragons guarding gold hoards. The silence lasted all the way to Sherlock's front door. He quickly picked the lock and dashed inside to grab his stuff. John waited at the threshold as Sherlock gathered his things. Sherlock appeared less than a minute later with his pack on his back and his tattered, black violin case. John found himself holding the case as Sherlock put the deadbolt back in place. Soon enough, John heard the deadbolt slide back with a resounding _click_.

"Ready to go?" Sherlock nodded and gestured for John to lead the way. John found himself on his own threshold sooner than he expected. He paused before opening the door, to which Sherlock said,

"I think you just turn the handle to open it." John scoffed and said,

"I know how to work a door handle!" He paused before adding, "I'm just...nervous. Not all of my family is all that nice or welcoming or-" He was cut off by Sherlock, who reassured him with,

"Don't worry, mate. I know what you mean. I will be fine, I'll try not to take anything personally." John smiled at this. He took one last deep breath before opening the handle and announcing,

"Mum! I'm home!" John's house was busy; people were hustling and bustling back and forth, making noise, shouting up the stairs. John's mother weaved gracefully through the halls, hearing John's call above the noise. She greeted each of the boys with a hug and said,

"Hello, I'm ." Just like the day before, Sherlock tensed up when Mrs. Watson first wrapped her arms around him. It only took a second for him to relax and return the gesture.

"My name is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes." Mrs. Watson released Sherlock and said,

"It's very nice to meet you. I'm a bit busy in the kitchen with dinner at the moment, but maybe while we are eating I can talk with you? John has told me a bit about you, but I want you to tell me some more about yourself. Do you want to drop your things off in John's room so that they don't get destroyed by the general household?" said all of this in her sweetest voice, so Sherlock couldn't refuse.

"Yes, . Thank you." She smiled and rubbed the top of Sherlock's head, much like Saprisi does, although John's mother did it a bit more gently.

"No problem dear. You don't have to call me if you don't want to dear, you can call me by my real name, Martha. Or you can call me by whatever makes you most comfortable. If you need me, just give me a shout." Sherlock nodded his head as he replied with,

"Thank you." John picked up Sherlock's violin case which he had placed on the floor and began walking up the creaky stairs. Sherlock followed John all the way to the top; John opened the attic door and placed the case on the floor next to where his own pack lied. Sherlock shrugged off his pack and closed the door behind him. Unsure of what to do next, John sat on the end of his bed. He didn't have a bed frame, so his mattress lied on the floor and when he took a seat, his knees came up to his chest. Sherlock sat cross-legged across from him on the wood floor. John broke the awkward silence with,

"It's not much. But this is my room." He gestured to Harriet's bed as he said, "I share the attic with Harriet." Sherlock's head swiveled as he looked around the room. Pasted on the walls by John's bed were drawings, letters from his father, pictures and the like. Sherlock's smile stretched from ear to ear as he said,

"Are you kidding? It's brilliant! No one wants to sleep in the attic, so you have the roomiest space to sleep in the whole house. It's really not bad, not bad at all." Sherlock pointed to one of the family pictures that was pasted on the wall. "Is that your father?" John turned to look at the photograph that caught Sherlock's attention.

"Yeah. That's him." They spent a long time looking at the photograph before Sherlock said,

"You miss him a lot." It wasn't a question, he _knew_ that John missed him by the look that came over his face when he saw his father's picture. John nodded, still looking at the photograph. Sherlock spoke again, saying,

"You still sleep with his blanket." John was shocked. He turned to Sherlock, but before the question ever formed on his lips, Sherlock said, "You were playing with the corner of the quilt as you looked at him. I just noticed and I thought it might be his. The quilt, I mean." John looked down at his hands and to his surprise, he found that Sherlock was right. He was pulling at one of the loose strings that was attached to the frayed corner. He dropped the corner immediately and Sherlock let out a small chuckle.

"Don't worry about it, mate. I really like the quilt though, it's almost like mine." He was correct, John's quilt was also a brilliant blue. The only difference was that instead of fish, John's had a sailboat on the front.

"You're right!" Sherlock pulled his own quilt out of his pack and laid it on the floor next to John's bed. "They're even the same size!" John moved the quilt from the floor to his bed. As he placed it on top of his own, Sherlock gave him a quizzical look. John answered with,

"The floor is a bit dirty, I don't want to ruin your quilt." Sherlock laughed.

"If only you could see where it's been, your floor is pretty clean by my standards." He wasn't lying, John noticed some dried blood on the underside of the quilt when he picked it up off of the floor. John figured that it was from that awful night when he tried to escape. He nodded and said,

"Maybe we can ask my mum to wash it for you." Sherlock shook his head.

"No, she's busy as it is, I don't want to make more work for her." John would have argued, but at that moment, a loud _crash_ was heard from downstairs, followed by some indistinct shouting.

"Sorry, that happens all the time." Sherlock didn't seem to be phased by the noise, he was distracted by the shoddily-painted window. He strode over to it with a few quick steps and threw it open. John walked over to where Sherlock was standing and asked,

"What are you doing?" Sherlock only replied with,

"Perfect." He stuck his hands out and ran them over the worn shingles. The attic window overlooked a ledge from the roof below. Sherlock glanced at his watch and without further ado, climbed out onto the flat ledge. John asked again, but with more urgency,

"What are you doing?!" Sherlock was sitting with his legs stretched out on the wide rooftop. He was as calm as could be when he said,

"Come on! You'll miss it if you're inside!" Sherlock glanced at his watch again and began to crawl away. John nervously followed him out onto the ledge; he wasn't sure if his mother would approve of what he was about to do. Now that John was out on the ledge, he saw Sherlock about three metres away, looking out over the rooftops. John scooted closer, sat down next to him and asked again,

"_What are we doing?_" Sherlock pointed out to the horizon as he whispered,

"The sunset." Looking to where Sherlock was pointing, John saw a sky painted with pinks and oranges and reds. The sun seemed to be coloring the clouds with its rays; the sun's long-reaching fingers brushed the clouds, staining them with its colors. John gasped at the sight. He had never seen the sunset like this. John had never left London before yesterday, so the sun always disappeared behind the tall buildings before he could see its beauty. Now that he was above the rooftops, he could finally see the sun go to sleep. The ledge they were sitting on was wide, and once the sun had finally gone and the clouds were back to their grey selves, Sherlock laid on his back and looked to the stars that began peeking out of the darkness. John did the same and said,

"Do you know any of the constellations?"

"Yep. All of them. Saprisi uses them to navigate." Another moment passed by before Sherlock broke the silence with an "Oh!" Sherlock sat up rather quickly and glanced at his watch again. John sat up too and said,

"Sunset's over, mate. Why are you looking at your watch?" Sherlock started making his way back to the window as he said,

"We've been out here a while, I'm not sure when your mum will have dinner ready." John followed Sherlock all the way to the window and into the darkened attic. John closed the window as Sherlock pulled the cord that turned on the small, dim lightbulb that swung from the ceiling. As John fastened the locks on the window frame, he heard a call echo up the stairs. It was his mother.

"Dinner's ready everyone!" The boys couldn't help but smile at each other.


	11. The Lost Friend

The boys entered the kitchen to find that half of the seats at the table were already occupied. John's mother was placing the last dish of food on the table when she caught sight of the boys in the doorway.

"Come boys, over here. Come sit by me so that I can talk to you guys while we eat." John's father normally took the seat at the head of the table, but since he had been gone so long, took it as her own. She gestured to the seats directly to the right of her and the boys walked over and pulled out their chairs. Sherlock sat directly to Mrs. Watson's right and John to Sherlock's right. John's aunt Marie sat down the seat across from Sherlock and began cooing to the baby in her arms as called one last time:

"Dinner's ready! Come now or don't eat!" The last stragglers came in and filled in the remaining seats. Now that all of the chairs were full, was satisfied and said, "You can begin eating." People began reaching for plates of food and the kitchen filled with the buzz of chatter as adults began talking about their day at work and children traded marbles under the table. Plates were passed around and everyone took their share of each dish. Mashed potatoes seemed to be the only dish there was an excess of and spooned a large amount onto Sherlock's plate with a _splot_ as she asked,

"So John told me that you are from France?" Sherlock was wide-eyed at the sight in front of him; he had never seen so many people gathered about under one roof eating the same meal. All the noise and chatter was a bit overwhelming for him, so he replied with,

"Quoi?" John's aunt Marie looked up from the baby and said,

"Elle a dit: 'Vous habitiez en France?'" John's mouth fell to the floor when he heard his aunt utter this phrase, he had absolutely no idea that she spoke french. Sherlock blushed before he answered.

"Sorry. Yes, I used to live in France. Did I really speak french just now?" Marie smiled as she said,

"It's alright to be a bit nervous, there's a lot of us here."

"I've just never seen so many people gathered about a table at once." The four of them laughed at Sherlock's remark. continued the conversation with,

"So what part of London does your family live in?" John was confused with this question; his mother already knew that Sherlock slept alone in empty houses since his family was dead. It took him a minute to see that this was his mother's sneaky way to get him to sleep at the Watson residence. She played ignorant as Sherlock explained,

"Errr...they...don't live in London." He poked at the half-eaten mashed potatoes as he continued with, "They...kind of aren't living at all." He started to get teary-eyed and thought it best to interrupt his story before he got any more upset. She put her careworn hand over his smaller one and said,

"It's alright, you don't have to explain. John's done that for me already." Sherlock turned wide-eyed to John, who looked at his plate, too embarrassed to make eye contact. "I'm worried about you sleeping alone in those empty houses. Do you want to sleep here?" Sherlock's head swiveled to as he stammered,

"No, I-I really don't want to take up space, it's full here as it is and I can't eat your food and-" he spoke in a rush and Marie cut him off with,

"You saw the attic, you won't take up space if you sleep there with John. It's really alright, it would be nice to have another french-speaker in the house." She smiled and Sherlock returned the gesture with a weak grin. said,

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't totally serious."

"Is it really alright?" Sherlock asked in a small voice. nodded and said,

"Of course." A huge grin spread across Sherlock's face as he stood up and gave a hug. "Thank you. So, so much." She gave him a pat on the back as she said,

"It is my pleasure, dear." Sherlock let go of the hug and sat back down to his potatoes. He began eating again and Marie asked,

"Depuis combien de temps habitez-vous ici?" They continued on in french for a while and John quickly lost track of what they were saying since he spoke no french himself. He began to listen to the chatter that filled the room; his cousins were still trading marbles under the table, away from the prying eyes of the adults. Aunts were discussing the latest fashion trends. This was reasonable since most of them were seamstresses and made clothes for those who were willing to buy them for a slightly higher price. Their operation was semi-legal since the clothes they sold were under the table and out of sight of those who took coupons from the ration booklets. For those who could spare an extra shilling or two, they could buy a garment from them without using coupons. was also among the seamstress lot, but to everyone in town, she was known as _the_ seamstress. John's mother worked magic with her machine and whenever a child came around that needed a patch sewn on or the hem of a pant fixed, would have it done. knew that a lot of the people who frequented her service were struggling much like herself, so she often did jobs for a reduced rate. Quite a few people who lived on the nice side of town also made the trip down to the Watson residence since they found out about 's skill. They paid full price and some of the more generous among them tipped her a few extra shillings or brought her some fresh bread or wrapped fish as a way to show their thanks.

Fashion trends were of no interest to the uncles, however. Their favorite topics were politics and rugby. Tonight, John heard them discussing politics. It was getting heated as opinions began to fly around. John heard one of his uncles say in a raised voice,

"I don't give a damn if Churchill uses planes to stop the u-boats from sinking our supply ships, but don't you think having the American navy as an ally would be good for us too?"

"The Americans are trying to retain their neutrality in this war."

"Neutrality my ass, they will be involved by the end of it. Mark my words; they better be on our side when the time comes." The argument continued, but John lost focus again as he turned his full attention to his meal. Not too long later, the argument got so heated that one of the uncles slammed his fist on the table to emphasize his point. He was a half a table away, but Sherlock flinched so badly at the noise and motion that he upset his cup of water. scolded them with, "Hey! You will lower your voices and refrain from banging the table as long as I am still here!" John and Marie mopped up the mess with their napkins as Sherlock removed his face from behind his arms, which were raised and covering his face. Once he saw the mess, he blushed and grabbed his own napkin so that he could help. He began stammering.

"I-I'm so sorry, I don't know what-" He was cut off by John's mother who said,

"No worries, dear, it's only water." Sherlock's cheeks were still beet red as the last of the water was sopped up. Marie passed the baby as she put the wet napkins in the kitchen to dry. The rest of the dinner passed without incident, though Sherlock was a little quieter than before. Soon enough, all of the food was gone and all of the dirty dishes were being washed and put away by various members of the Watson residence. John's mother passed the baby back to Marie and said to the boys,

"Let's go upstairs and arrange where you are going to sleep." The boys followed her up one flight of stairs, where she stopped and entered her room. Out of the closet she pulled out a few tattered blankets. She gave them to the boys to hold as she led the way up the remaining two flights of stairs into the attic with a worn pillow under her arm. She pushed open the door and pulled the string on the lonely light bulb. She took a look around the attic, taking in all of the details of the wood floors and the clumsily paneled walls. Her husband had done his best to make the space livable for their children, but it still broke her heart that they still had to live there. She took the blankets from the boys and began laying them on the floor next to John's bed.

"I'm sorry I don't have an extra mattress dear." Sherlock reassured her with,

"Don't worry , I've been sleeping on the floor for quite a while. A few extra blankets is more than enough." She smiled at this and began beating the pillow, hoping to fluff it up a bit. Once it was fluffed enough to 's satisfaction, she turned to the boys and said,

"So where is this fish quilt that John told me about?" John pointed as Sherlock said,

"Wow, I guess you did tell her everything." John looked to the floor, abashed.

"Sorry, mate." Sherlock gave John a pat on the back as he replied with,

"No worries, it saves me a lot of explaining." While the boys had this conversation, they failed to notice . Upon seeing the quilt for the first time, she had frozen in place. Once they saw the state of disbelief that she was in, they began to worry. was rarely lost for words. After a moment's silence, John asked,

"Mum? Are you Okay?" She turned and quickly put on her best smile for them.

"Of course!" Sherlock wasn't fooled though. He said,

"You knew my mother." It wasn't a question. He knew it was true by the look on her face, but he didn't know _how _it was true. "How did you know my mother, ?" His tone was serious and curious at the same time. Before she answered, she picked up the quilt off of John's bed and moved it to Sherlock's spot on the floor. She ran one of her hands over the fish closest to the bottom left corner of the quilt before turning over the corner, exposing the underside. There on the back was a fancy red MW sewn in red thread. John recognized it instantly.

"Hey! That's you signature!" makes quilts rather infrequently, but when she completes a piece, she signs each quilt with the same red letters. The MW seemed to stare them in the face. nodded and pat the edge of John's bed, indicating that they should take a seat. They sat where she pat and she began to explain.

"Before I was a seamstress and made clothes, I used to sell quilts by the wharfs. I got really good at making them quickly, so someone could put in a request for a certain patterns and I could have it ready the next day. Your mother came by once a week for a month." She paused in her story and Sherlock took the opportunity to say,

"She told me that _she_ made it." nodded and said,

"She _did_ make quilts, but not this one. We made so many, it doesn't surprise me that she told you that she made it. After making so many, all of the patterns begin to fade into each other and each quilt begins to look the same." Sherlock's face dropped as he glanced to his quilt lying on the floor. It crushed him to find out that the one possession that he believed to be from his mother was a fake. "I began to recognize her each time she came around and I asked her what they were for. She said that she wanted one for each of her children." Another pause came along and another interjection from Sherlock,

"But there was only three of us!"

"I didn't know this, and she paid me, so I has no reason to believe that she didn't have four children. On the fifth week, your mother showed up again, but she didn't want a quilt. She asked if I could teach her _how_ to quilt. I said yes, and for the next two months, she came home with me once a week so that I could teach her. She learned very quickly and was very good at it. One week, she brought along one of her children. I'm not sure who she brought though, she never mentioned a name." Sherlock interrupted again.

"What did they look like?"

"Dark, curly hair like yours and as thin as a willow whip." Sherlock glanced to the floor before he whispered,

"It was me, my other two brothers had straight hair that was a bit lighter." let out a watery chuckle, she was getting teary-eyed as she remembered what John had told her. If it was true, her old friend was dead.

"Is it true, Sherlock? She's really dead?" A sniff came from Sherlock. He wiped tears from his eyes as he nodded, unable to hold it in anymore. She pulled him into a hug as she said,

"She was the nicest lady I've ever known, Sherlock. She'd be so proud of you and how far you've come. You've been so brave." Sherlock gently broke the hug and sat back down on the bed next to John. He wiped away the last few tears as he said,

"What happened next?" took a shaky breath before answering.

"Well, you stayed with us for the day. You and John were around the same age, so you played nicely together. You were so young though, I'm not surprised that you didn't remember each other." They all smiled at this. Was it fate that they meet again? "That day was different though, she had never brought you along before. She was also acting different, a bit quiet. I found out what the fourth quilt was for. She let slip that she only had three children, so I asked about that final quilt. She began crying and told me that she was pregnant with a fourth child. She had lost the baby though, after…" She stopped when she saw Sherlock blanch. He was as pale as a ghost when he whispered nervously,

"No. It-it wasn't _him,_ was it?" nodded and Sherlock's color returned. He was beet red with anger and his fists were clenched.

"She brought you along to protect you. She said that your older and younger brother were in no danger." Another nod from Sherlock.

"It was true. It was only ever _me_." John was way beyond confused at this point, but he was too afraid to ask for an explanation. cupped her hands around Sherlock's cheeks as she said,

"She _loved_ you, Sherlock. With all her heart, I know it." A moment's silence passed by. "She eventually had to stop seeing me for reasons that you probably know, but we wrote to each other for years after the fact. She sent letters all the time, but they stopped about two months ago. It happened before, when she got in some sticky situations, but I never imagined _this._" Sherlock nodded. It made sense, that is about when things got a little sticky at his house and they began preparing to escape. "When I told her that I moved on from quiltmaking to making clothes, she sent me a gift, for old time's sake. Let me go get it." stood up and disappeared behind the door that led to the stairs. They heard her creaky footsteps as she made her way down the stairs. The quiet was so absolute, they heard her descent all the way to the first landing. John was afraid to break the silence and Sherlock seemed distracted with his thoughts, looking at the fish that covered the front of his quilt. The silence continued as they heard begin to climb the stairs again. The two boys looked to the door as pushed it open. In her arms was yet another quilt. She unfolded it and held it up for them to see. The same size as theirs, it was a quilt of great beauty. Instead of a school of littler fish, this quilt was covered with one giant fish with scales of every color. laid it down and folded back the bottom left corner to reveal an LH in silver thread. Sherlock traced the fancy letters with his index finger as he whispered "_Mum_" under his breath. said,

"Why don't you sleep with this one tonight? I'll wash your old one since it looks like it's a bit dirty." Sherlock nodded as began folding up the dirty quilt. She gasped when she turned it over and saw all of the dried blood on the back. "Is this blood yours, Sherlock?" Sherlock shook his head.

"No. It's theirs, my family's. I got covered in it when I kneeled down next to each of them to check if they were breathing." whispered '_bloody hell_' just loud enough for them to hear. She pulled Sherlock into another hug and said in his ear, "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I wish that there was something more I could do to help you." She broke the embrace and picked up the folded quilt. She stood up and walked to the door before she turned around and said,

"Why don't you boys change into your pyjamas and go to bed? I'll be up in a moment to tuck you in." Sherlock wrung his hands and looked to the ground before he stammered,

"Err...I-I don't really...have...pyjamas." Before could say anything, John said,

"You can borrow a pair of mine, if you want." took a moment to say "Perfect" before she turned and walked down the stairs. John looked through his small, three-drawer dresser for his extra pair of pyjamas. Sherlock was a little bit taller than John, so when he put them on several inches of ankle and forearm stuck out of the end of the pyjama sleeves and bottoms. Nevertheless, the two boys crawled under the blankets and waited patiently for . John finally gathered the courage to ask a question. He broke the silence with,

"Why did your mum lose her fourth baby? Who was the _him_ you were talking about and what did he do?" The silence fell over the attic again as Sherlock stared at the ceiling. His answer came slowly.

"I'll tell you in the morning, I promise. It's just a lot to handle right now. I don't want to begin talking about it while I'm still full of all of these emotions, I might lose control of them. I-I just-" John finished the sentence for him.

"-Can't talk about it right now. I know what you mean. Sometimes I get nervous when people ask me too many questions about my dad." Sherlock turned his head on his pillow so that he could see John. The corners of his mouth twitched as he whispered,

"Thanks, mate. I'll tell you tomorrow, _I promise_." John smiled back and said,

"No problem." They laid under their covers in a friendly silence. A few minutes passed before they heard 's footsteps on the stairs. She wasn't alone though, they heard a second pair of feet make the journey up the stairs with her. The footsteps got closer and the attic door opened to reveal holding a lit candle and John's sister, Harriet. Harriet crawled under her covers as Sherlock whispered,

" ?" She walked over to Sherlock, who pulled out his handkerchief. He quickly unwrapped it and pulled out the family photograph that he had shown John just the day before. "Here is a picture of my mother, if you want to see." took it gingerly from his grasp, treating the picture as if it could disintegrate at any moment. A tear fell from her eye as she looked over the picture. She gave it back to Sherlock and whispered,

"Maybe tomorrow you can show me the rest of the pictures?" Sherlock nodded.

"Of course, ." She smiled and Sherlock wrapped up his photographs and tucked the handkerchief under his pillow. kneeled down and planted a kiss on each of their foreheads. She did the same to Harriet and pulled the string on the lonely light bulb. This made only light source the dim candle that held. Before she left, she whispered

"Good night. Sweet dreams." which each child whispered back in turn. They all fell asleep to their own thoughts; Harriet's were still on dinner. Sherlock was still trying to make sense of all of the emotions flying around within him. _My mother was friends with John's mother. She didn't make my fish quilt. She was going to have a fourth baby. I was going to have another sibling…_That last thought stung him the most. He could have been a big brother to another little human, but because of _him_ he was only an older brother to one other. _Actually, I'm the older brother of no one. They are all dead._ Sherlock fell asleep with hot, silent tears running down his face, thinking _Well, if my mother didn't make _my _quilt, at least she made the one I'm sleeping under._ The thought that his mother made the quilt that was keeping him warm gave him some comfort as he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

John fell asleep trying to make sense of all that he had just heard. _Who is this mysterious _him _that bothers Sherlock so much? And how did he keep Sherlock's mother from having her fourth baby? Why was Sherlock in trouble the day he came and not his other brothers? And why did Sherlock flinch so badly at dinner?_ John racked his brains thinking, trying to connect all of the dots, but he couldn't come up with anything that made sense. His thoughts eventually returned to his father, hoping that he was safe and that if he couldn't be with him, at least he could be with his quilt.

**Hello and Merry Christmas! Stay safe and warm and I hope all of your bellies are full with good food. If you don't celebrate Christmas, then I hope that you have a nice holiday season full of fun. Take care of yourselves, we all deserve a break off from work/school/life in general. XOXO **


	12. Night Terrors

John awoke from his uneasy sleep to a shout. Rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes, he sat up and searched the darkness for the source of the noise. The noise stopped when John sat up, so he couldn't tell right away if it was coming from Sherlock or Harriet. He squinted into the inky darkness, trying with great difficulty to make out where Harriet was sleeping just a few metres away. He didn't squint for long though because the noise returned and it was coming from Sherlock.

"Hey. Sherlock!" He whispered into the dark. Sherlock kept talking, all in a panic. The soliloquy Sherlock uttered was rushed and broken, in his hurry he didn't even acknowledge John. John figured that he must still be sleeping and having a nightmare or something, and he was right. He kicked the covers off of his torso so that he could reach over and gently poke Sherlock in the shoulder.

"Hey! Wake up, it's only a nightmare. Hey!" John whispered, desperately trying to wake his friend up. The panicked talking was turning into panicked shouting and Sherlock began tossing and turning rather violently. John couldn't understand most of what his friend was trying to say since it was in french. The only phrase he caught was "May day! May day!" since Sherlock said it so often. John was getting worried since the tossing and turning was only getting worse as time progressed. John kicked off the remaining blankets and got out of bed. He leaned over his friend, gently shaking his shoulder with his hand.

"Sherlock, it's alright. Just wake up, you're worrying me!" John's concerned efforts only got him a punch in the chest from the manic Sherlock. John grunted as he felt the wind knocked out of his chest. The punch Sherlock delivered was a strong one and woke him up from his nightmare. Covered in a cold sweat, he sat up and immediately ripped off his quilt and tattered blankets, tossing them to the side. His head swiveled back and forth as he desperately searched for the person who he punched.

"John? Was that you?" John grunted and Sherlock stuck his hand out into the dark where he thought John sat. His eyes were not as well adjusted to the dark as John's were so he reached out a little to the right of where John actually sat on the edge of his bed. John grabbed his friend's wrist and said quietly,

"I'm here, mate." Sherlock shuffled from his spot on the floor to sit next to John on the end of his bed.

"Sorry about that. Did I wake Harriet up?" Sherlock glanced in the direction where he knew Harriet lay. John whispered back,

"No, she's still asleep. She only wakes up for the planes." Sherlock nodded and looked down to where John still held his wrist. He didn't make any motion to break contact with him and neither did John. They sat in silence for a few moments before John interrupted it with a whisper.

"You were having a nightmare, right?" Sherlock nodded again. "Were you in an airplane or something? In your nightmare, I mean. You were saying 'may day' quite a bit and the only time I've ever heard someone say that is when a plane is crashing or something. Not that I've ever been in an aeroplane, but I saw it in a film once." From what John could see in the dark, Sherlock seemed to be giving him a quizzical look.

"May day? No, I wasn't in an aeroplane…" Sherlock trailed off, trying to remember the dream he was trapped in only a moment ago. "Oh! I wasn't shouting 'may day,' I was shouting m'aider." John couldn't hear the difference between the two since he spoke zero french, so he said,

"What's the difference?"

"No, not 'may day' but 'm'aider'. It's spelled M-A-I-D-E-R. It's french for 'help me.'" Sherlock's sad look came over him again. Even in the dark, John could see his friend's face slacken and the light leave his icy blue eyes. John was concerned and asked him quietly,

"What was the dream about?" Before Sherlock could answer though, a shiver ran through him. They had only been out of the covers for a few minutes, but their threadbare pyjamas did nothing to block out the bitter cold. The attic was insulated but they could still see their breath on the air when they exhaled. Without a word, John let go of Sherlock's wrist and began gathering up his blankets on the floor. John picked up Sherlock's mother's quilt and laid it on top of his own, to which Sherlock protested.

"Hey! How am I going to keep warm?" John only crawled under the covers of his own bed and grabbed Sherlock's wrist again, dragging him closer.

"You're going to sleep with me." Sherlock tried to pull out of John's grasp, but John was strong. Sherlock shook his head as he said rather shakily,

"No, I-I can't. John…" John held his tight grip on Sherlock's wrist as he whispered,

"What's going to happen? It's more comfortable here than on the floor, I suspect. We'll also be warmer now that we have _all_ of the blankets piled on top of each other." Sherlock still looked nervous, so John crawled out of the covers and gently nudged Sherlock into his bed. Now that Sherlock was on John's mattress, John tucked him in and sat on the edge, much like his mother would do when she used to tell him bedtime stories.

"Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?" Sherlock nodded and said,

"Sure. But how are _you_ going to stay warm?" John shook his head.

"I'll be fine for a few minutes. Tell me about the dream." John saw Sherlock tense up under the covers. Whatever he was about to reveal to John was either deeply personal or really uncomfortable. Or both.

"I was being beaten up. But no one would help me, they were all just watching me. My brothers were watching him beat me up and they never said a word or made a motion to help me out or stop him." Sherlock paused, emotions still raw from the dream. John noticed the reappearance of this mysterious _him_. As Sherlock gathered his breath, John asked,

"Is this the same _him_ from before?" John heard a quiet sniffle from his friend before he nodded. John's brain began working overtime, all of the pieces began sliding into place. He was remembering Sherlock's big flinch at dinner, how his mother brought him along the day she thought he was in danger, his deep affection for Saprisi and his curiosity in John's father. The pieces clicked and John asked quietly into the dark,

"Sherlock? Were...were you abused? By your father?" Sherlock nodded as a hot, wet tear ran down his face. He sat up and began to explain,

"Yes. I looked nothing like my other brothers, so my father thought that my mum was seeing someone else. He thought I wasn't _his._ He was wrong, of course, I _was_ his, but he was a paranoid bastard. I was a reminder of his biggest insecurity, so he chose me to be his punching bag. My mother did her best to protect me, but he still found ways to get to me. The day she brought me here all those years ago must have been the day my father found out about the miscarriage. He thought the fourth baby wasn't his, just like he thought I wasn't his. So...he hurt my mum enough and she miscarried, getting rid of the baby." Sherlock paused before adding, "Just think John, had he not hurt her, I could have had another brother. Or sister. But now I have none, and one of them is gone because of _him_." John pulled his friend into a hug and they sat there for a few minutes. John stared into the darkness as Sherlock allowed a few silent tears fall into John's pyjamas. John couldn't help but think of his own father and how kind and loving he was. When they finally broke their embrace, John said,

"Christmas is soon. Like less than two weeks away. I heard that some of the troops are coming home for a few days. Maybe, just _maybe_ my father will be back. You can meet him and he will treat you like a real father should. And when he comes home for good, when this bloody war is over, we can live properly, like a family." Sherlock pulled his face into a weak smile and said,

"I think that's why I like Saprisi so much. He was the first to treat me like a son." He paused before adding, "Hey, speaking of Christmas, what do you think we should get him? Saprisi, I mean." They threw ideas back and forth for a few minutes before it was John's turn to shiver. He had been out of the covers for quite a while and it was only getting colder as the night progressed.

"Sorry, John! I forgot I'm still in your bed. Let me get out and-" Sherlock began peeling off the covers as he talked but he was cut off by John.

"Stay put." John folded back half of the covers and laid down next to Sherlock, who was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. He was scooting farther and farther away from John, who was fully under the covers now.

"Err..are you sure you don't want me to sleep on the floor still? Because I can-" Sherlock was cut off by John again.

"Calm down, I'm not going to bite you! What is going to happen if you sleep next to me? You were sleeping next to me just fine a moment ago when you are on the floor! You were literally the same distance away before; the only difference now is that you are on my old, lumpy mattress." Sherlock was as far away from John as he could get while still remaining on the mattress; he was tottering on the very edge. There was a stiff moment of silence before he breathed a sigh of resignation.

"Fine, but I don't like it." John nodded as he felt his friend scootch closer to him, away from the edge of the mattress.

"You don't have to like it, it's warmer." Another huff from Sherlock. A moment's silence passed before John heard a whisper from his friend.

"Goodnight John." John smiled to himself before he whispered,

"Goodnight Sherlock." The two boys fell asleep for the second time that night. Under their many blankets, they listened to the sound of each other's breathing. _Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale._ It was quite relaxing and before long, they grew tired again. They drifted off, each of them with the breath of each other in their ears.

When opened the door to wake Harriet and the boys in the morning, she smiled when she saw Sherlock and John huddled together under all of the blankets she had given them the night previous. She paused before waking them; they seemed so peaceful when they were sleeping. No stress, no worries, no sad memories troubled them as she watched them sleep. The covers moved up and down in time with their breathing and felt her own breath catch in her chest as she remembered that Sherlock's mother, her old friend, was dead. She breathed no more and lived no longer to see her son sleep peacefully. A tear ran down her face as she also remembered that her husband hurt her and Sherlock. _What a life Sherlock has led. He has had to deal with more suffering and pain than most adults! He must feel like he is carrying the weight if the world on his back, it's a wonder he has made it this far. _Another hot tear escaped her eye and as wiped it away with her sleeve, she thought to herself, _But he is here now, he has made it this far. I can protect him now. I'll be damned if anything happens to him on my watch. _She allowed herself one last look at their peaceful faces before she woke them.

"Boys, I have to work early today. I'll be in the back room with my sewing machine if you need me. You might want to get breakfast before someone else eats it, it's ready and sitting by the stove." She walked over to Harriet and said the same before she left. She gently closed the door behind her as the boys began to stir. Sherlock rolled over to face John so that he could poke him awake.

"Pssst. Hey, it's time to get up." John heard the whisper and felt Sherlock poking him gently in the shoulder. He groaned and rolled over to face his friend. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he said,

"Blimey, what time is it?" Sherlock pulled his arm out from under the covers to look at his watch.

"Around 6:00. Your mum came in, said she said she had to work early today." Sherlock paused as John yawned. "If your mum is a seamstress, where does she get the fabric? I thought you needed coupons to buy textiles." John replied in a groggy voice,

"You don't need coupons to buy second-hand clothing. She likes to take them apart and remake them, then sell them at a slightly higher price. You also don't need coupons to buy textiles under the table." He yawned again before adding, "Also, some of the people from the nice side of town bring my mum second-hand clothes or unwanted cloth as tips or payment." Sherlock nodded.

"I guess you're right, illegal goods aren't exactly rationed."

"Correct, Sherlock." An idea struck Sherlock like lightning.

"Hey! You know what we should get Saprisi? A pot! He has a pan, but I know he like soup." John was fully awake now and grimaced at this statement.

"I like the idea but where the hell are we going to find a pot? They've all but disappeared from all the London shops." Sherlock smiled one of his cunning smiles. John was both nervous and excited.

"There you go, that's our problem. Who says that we have to get it from a _London_ shop?" Sherlock's smile grew when he saw comprehension down on his friend's face.

"Oh! When is Saprisi's next run to the coast?" Sherlock thought for a moment before answering.

"Today! Uh-oh." He glanced at his watch again and jumped out from under the covers.

"What's the matter, Sherlock?" Sherlock began to get dressed rather hurriedly. He said between pulling several thin jumpers over his head,

"He leaves in 20 minutes!" John jumped into action too; they were both dressed within the minute. They flew down the stairs with their packs, creating a lot of noise in the process. heard the noise and stepped into the kitchen, where she found the two boys grabbing their slice of toast.

"What is with the noise? And what is the rush all about?" John said hurriedly,

"We are going to see Saprisi, but he leaves in…" He glanced to his watch, but Sherlock beat him to the mark.

"15 minutes!" gave each of them a quick peck on the cheek before she dismissed them with,

"Better be off then! Be safe, and be back in time for dinner!" With that, they were off, dashing through the door with their toast in hand, running as fast as their legs would allow them.


	13. A Boat as Grey as the Sky

The boys arrived at the wharfs, huffing and puffing. Their breaths clouded the salty air as Saprisi stepped off of his ship and clapped them on the backs with one of his enormous hands.

"This is the second time I've seen you two hunched over and breathing like old men with asthma." He let out one of his hearty, rolling laughs before he added, "I'm assuming you ran all the way here because you want to come on my 'fishing' run today, is that right?" The boys were still out of breath, so they answered him with a nod. "Alright, then. Come on board. What's that in your hand, there?" The boys stepped on board and looked down to their hands. They were still grasping their pieces of toast, completely forgotten in their race to the wharfs. They grinned as they caught each other's eye and Saprisi added, "Go inside the cabin, in my bag you can grab some of the preserves from the other day." Excited, the boys quickly made their way into the cabin and searched for the small jar of preserves as Saprisi untied the dockline and pushed them away from the wharfs. They boys had found the jar of preserves and were spreading it on their bread while Saprisi started the engine and began to steer them into the Thames.

Just as last time, Sherlock and John curled up on Saprisi's old mattress and read _The Hobbit _as Saprisi listened from his position behind the steering wheel. They were pretty far into the story; John was reading chapter nine out loud as Sherlock followed along on the page. Saprisi was smiling to himself, he loved this story and John did a good job reading it. He gave it life; he knew when to change his intonation, he knew when to pause for effect; he had read it so many times that he didn't really need the book to tell the story. The part of the story they were at was Saprisi's favorite: the dwarves were sneaking out of prison by escaping in barrels. It was actually his inspiration and the beginnings of his smuggling business; no one checked a barrel full of fish. The only difference between Saprisi's operation and the escape plan in _The Hobbit_ was that the dwarves snuck out in empty wine barrels. John got to this point of the chapter, describing how Bilbo packed them in with straw when he was interrupted by Sherlock.

"Wait! You said just the other day that they snuck out in barrels of fish!" Sherlock was appalled that he was misled by his friends. Saprisi laughed and said,

"I believe the conversation went more like this if I recall correctly: after you told John how we fill up the barrels, John said '_Oh! It's like how Bilbo sneaked the dwarfs out of the elvish prison! Right under the king's nose_' to which I said '_Exactly so, my boy. Let's get you two dressed_.' Never did we say that they used _fish_ barrels to sneak out." Saprisi grinned as he turned in his seat to face them curled up on his mattress. Sherlock let out a small huff through his nose before he said in a small voice,

"I guess you're right." John allowed himself a quick grin before he continued reading; he knew that Sherlock hated to be wrong.

John read all the way to the English Channel. Just as last time, as the little red vessel made its way out of the Thames, the boys rushed to the window, eager to see the large expanse of water stretch out before them. The day was just as grey and windy as it was the first time they saw it, so the water took on a deep blue between the whitecaps that frothed in the wind. Sherlock and John packed their things and stepped outside, leaning on the bow railings. It wasn't time to jump just yet, but it was nice to feel the wind on their face and smell the salt of the sea for a few minutes before they took their leap of faith. They looked over the water, scanning the horizon as far as they could see. They didn't really expect to see anything, so when Sherlock squinted into the distance and spotted another vessel, he was a little surprised. He leaned a bit further over the railing to try and see it better, hoping that his eyes were just playing tricks on him. He was disappointed when the ship stubbornly remained in sight. He pointed to it and asked,

"John? Do you see that?" John squinted in the direction that Sherlock indicated. The ship was small on the horizon; he wouldn't have spotted it himself and was impressed that Sherlock had seen it at all. It was painted grey, almost the same color as the sky.

"Yeah, I see it." He paused as he saw his friend's face drop. "Is that bad news?" Sherlock gave a quick nod before he dashed back inside the cabin. John followed and opened the door just in time to hear Sherlock's hurried conversation with Saprisi.

"Saprisi! C'est un bateau!" Saprisi crinkled his nose and looked out to the horizon before saying,

"Où est le bateau?" Sherlock rolled his eyes before answering.

"Dans la mer, bien sûr!" This must have been a smart-arse answer because Saprisi stuck out his tongue in response. He squinted out on the horizon for a few moments before he asked,

"Tu pense c'est un bateau d'Allemagne?" More squinting from both of them before Sherlock said quietly,

"Je ne sais pas." John was confused; he didn't understand a thing. He let them squint a moment longer before he asked,

"Err...is there a problem?" Both Saprisi and Sherlock swiveled their head in his direction; John could feel their eyes burning a hole in him. Saprisi said,

"Not sure yet. There is a boat out there and we aren't sure if it's a friendly boat or a German boat." Sherlock grinned before he added,

"We have to teach you french, mate. It'll make things a lot easier." John allowed himself a small smile before he asked,

"So, what's the plan?" Saprisi looked back out to the grey ship, small on the horizon.

"Well, better safe than sorry. I won't be going to France today, and it would be suspicious for my contact to do anything but fish. We have to assume that the ship is a German one, so we'll fish too. Then to make ourselves look like real fishermen, we'll go to the docks at Dover and sell the fish we catch. In case we are followed. Plus I can make a few coin from the catch." He paused before adding, "Sorry boys, looks like a work day today. I'll go get your overalls. Meet me outside by the nets." Saprisi cut the engine as Sherlock and John dropped their packs and headed outside to the stern of the little red vessel. Sherlock glanced to the horizon so much, he looked like he had a twitch. John asked,

"Do you really think that it's a German ship?" Sherlock peeled his eyes away from his source of worry. His face softened as he caught sight of John's friendly face. He answered in an exhausted voice.

"I don't see why not. It's small, but painted grey. Grey is normally for camouflage and why would you need to hide a fishing vessel? All of the fishers and smugglers I know of have brightly colored boats." He looked to the ship again and John thought back to the wharfs. Sherlock was right; even Delmar's old rickety boat was painted a bright blue.

Looking at his friend in such a panic over this one little boat in the distance, John got a glimpse at his friend's terror of the Germans. John was afraid of them and their bombs no doubt, but they didn't inspire the sheer terror they inspired in Sherlock. John reasoned that this was probably because he lived in England; isolated on the grey, damp island, the Germans were some far-away force with a few airplanes. Churchill did his best to fight in this war, but the fighting was somewhere else, on someone else's territory. To Sherlock, who had his family shot while he fled to the shadows, that force was in his backyard. The third reich was marching its soldiers down his town's streets and that great force that seemed far, far away to John was tapping on Sherlock's bedroom window. Sherlock may have been at home on the docks in France, but the moment the Germans set foot on them, they ceased to be home, to be _his_. Because now they belonged to Germany. John saw all of this, understood this as he watched his friend frantically search the grey horizon. He had more reason than most to dislike the Germans, since they eliminated his whole family _and_ took his town from him. John put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder to remind him that _he_ was still there, ready to support him like a brother. Sherlock flinched at the contact, but relaxed once he saw who it was.

"You are safe now, Sherlock. We'll get them in the end." Sherlock was grateful for the contact and the kind words. He put his hand over John's, which was still resting on his shoulder, and said,

"Thanks, mate. I just hope that it's soon." Saprisi walked out of the cabin with their green overalls in hand and saw them scanning the horizon, John's hand still on Sherlock's shoulder. He smiled to himself; it was a sweet moment and he felt like he was almost intruding on it. He allowed them a moment more before he closed the cabin door loudly and said,

"Don't worry boys, we have nothing to hide. No contraband is on board. We are just fishermen, remember?" The boys turned to face him and they each gave him a weak smile. John came over to grab his overalls and said,

"That's right. Just catching fish." Saprisi grinned from ear to ear as he tousled John's hair and said,

"That's the spirit, son. Let's get to work." Saprisi began untying knots and untangling the net as the boys quickly put on their gear. A few minutes and several choice francophone swears later, the net was ready for action. Saprisi ducked into the cabin as he said,

"Get ready to throw her in, I'll give the signal when it's time." John and Sherlock stood at the ready as they felt Saprisi begin to steer them in the right direction. Once they were up to speed and headed in the right direction, a loud _ding_ from Saprisi's bell rent the air and the boys threw the net into the water. John watched in amazement as the lengths of rope uncoiled as the water swallowed up the net. Finally the rope was pulled taught and the boys could dangle their legs over the edge as they waited for their net to fill with fish. They sat in a friendly, yet stiff, silence as they stared at the grey boat that was causing them so much worry. John remembered what Sherlock said in the cabin a few moments ago and finally broke the silence with,

"Do you _really_ want to teach me french?" John saw Sherlock smile out of the corner of his eye as he said,

"Of course! It's a lot of fun, especially in public, to use. You can make fun of people right in front of them and they'll have no idea! Saprisi and I used to do it all the time. When do you want to learn? Can I teach you now?" John wasn't expecting his friend to be as excited as he was with his answer. All he could say was,

"Sure," before Sherlock began teaching him. He immediately began pointing to different things and saying the french word. John would repeat it, and after a while, he began to get the hang of it.

"Okay...what is fish?" John closed his eyes, trying to remember.

"Err...poisson?" Sherlock's smile was the biggest John had ever seen it.

"Perfect! How do you say…" Sherlock looked around, searching for a word. He reached his hand up to the sky, fingers outstretched as he said, "...hand? How do you say hand?" John was doing really well for his first time, but all of the new words were beginning to slip away the more he tried to remember. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes before he said,

"Err...it's... bouche! No…" he said as he saw his friend shake his head. "'Bouche' is mouth. Hand is…" Another pause before the right answer came to him. "Oh! the answer is 'main!'" Sherlock clapped his hands together and said,

"Correct!" Sherlock smiled, proud of his friend. He was only an hour into his first french lesson and he already had several words memorized. "I think the net is full though, so do you want to continue this later?" John nodded in agreement.

"I think that's a good idea. Want me to go get Saprisi?"

"Yes, please. I'll start getting the net ready to roll." Less than a minute passed before the three of them stood at the ready, their hands on the taut rope, ready to haul in their catch. Saprisi, with his voice as loud as thunder, announced,

"Ready? Pull in three, two, one… Heave, ho! Heave, ho! Heave…" Pulling in the net took up all of their focus and energy, so the next minutes were spent in silence. No thoughts, no worries; the only thing that occupied their minds were the fish in the net and their tired arms. Finally, after what felt like hours later, Saprisi tied off his rope and hauled the sopping net on board. Sherlock hung up the coils of rope and Saprisi untied the net, scattering the fish all over the deck. Sherlock and John immediately kneeled on the deck and began sorting the fish. To their great surprise, once he had folded the net and put it away, Saprisi kneeled down next to them and began to help them. John gave Sherlock a quizzical glance. Sherlock nodded in answer and asked a question that both of them had thought.

"Err...Saprisi? I'm thrilled that you are helping us sort fish, but _why _are you helping us? I mean, don't you want to get us to Dover? John and I can have these sorted before we get there, easy." Saprisi gave a resigned sigh before he answered.

"I have no doubt about it, son, but I want to put on the best show I can for this little grey boat." He stuck his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the boat on the horizon. "If he ever sees me again, I want to give him no reason to doubt me. I want him to believe that there was never anything but fish in these barrels." The two boys nodded at this statement, they saw the wisdom in it.

"D'accord, Saprisi. Tu es une raison." Saprisi and Sherlock exchanged quick smiles before they continued sorting fish. Hearing his two friends speak french, a strange thought struck John. When Saprisi and Sherlock spoke french, their voices sounded so much prettier. Maybe it was the sound of the language, maybe they sounded more at ease when speaking their mother tongue, but to John, when they spoke french, they sounded nicer. Almost like their voices fit them better. It was interesting to John to say the least, so he asked,

"Do you guys know any songs in french?" Both of them paused in their work and looked up at John. For the second time that day, John could feel their eyes burning a hole in him. Saprisi answered first.

"Sure, son. Lots of them. What kind of song are you looking for?" John shrugged and Sherlock exclaimed,

"Oh! Let's teach him the bird song!" Saprisi scrunched his nose in though before he asked,

"You mean _Alouette_?" Sherlock shook his head in response.

"No, _Les Oiseaux_!" John's head swiveled between the two of them, trying to keep up with the conversation they were having. His head swung from Sherlock to Saprisi as Saprisi said,

"Perfect!" Before he knew it, the two of them were singing what seemed to be a nursery rhyme. Over the noise of the wind and the sound of fish hitting the bottom of barrels, John heard the two of them singing,

_Les oiseaux les plus beaux_

_Ne sont pas les plus gros_

_J'en ai vu des tout petits_

_Qui sont très, très jolis._

_Dans mes mains j'les ai pris,_

_Dans mes poches j'les ai mis,_

_En marchant dans la rue_

_J'les ai tous perdus... _

Once they got to the end of it, they started from the beginning again. They sang it three whole times before Sherlock said,

"Maybe we should teach you the words so you can sing too." Saprisi laughed and said,

"I think that's a good idea, laddie." Without any further ado, John was learning the rhyme, one line at a time. By the time they were halfway through sorting the fish, John had it memorized. He even sang it without their help once, all the way through.

"Very good, John! Soon enough, you'll be making fun of people at the market with Sherlock and I." John smiled at this; he loved compliments from Saprisi. It was almost like getting one from his father. Not quite the same, but a close second. Saprisi glanced down at his watch and said,

"Sacre bleu, look at the time! Can I leave you boys with the rest while I start up the engine and get us going? I want to get to Dover before the rush hours are over at the wharfside markets." The boys nodded and Saprisi stood up and waded through the remaining fish to get to the cabin door. The boys were still singing quietly under their breath as they felt the engine rumble to life beneath them. As their vessel began to move, they glanced at the horizon, looking for the boat that had caused them all of this trouble. They found it easily; it drew their eyes like a lodestone.

"Hopefully we will never find out if the ship is a bad one or not." John spoke, not realizing that he had voiced his thoughts aloud. He was surprised then when Sherlock broke his gaze with the boat to turn to him and say,

"I guess you're right. Let's finish this so then we can get changed and go inside. If we are lucky, we can finish the chapter before we get to Dover." John nodded and they quickly went back to work. In what seemed like no time, they were finished and getting changed so that they could go continue reading. They didn't have long to read though because they had barely read three pages before Saprisi was tying off his vessel at one of the docks at Dover. As the two of them were stepping out of the cabin, Saprisi said to them,

"Be safe, you two. Don't get lost, I'll be leaving an hour before sundown." The two boys were very confused. They thought that they would have to help Saprisi with the sale of the fish. Sherlock, very confusedly, asked,

"Wait, you mean...we can leave?" Saprisi laughed, startling one of the passing oystermen so much that he dropped a bucket full of the bivalves, scattering them all over the aged and salty wood of the dock. Saprisi stepped off board to help the man gather up his oysters as he said,

"Of course you can leave! It would be no fun if you had to help me sell all these fish! Besides, Dover has the best markets. Go and explore for a bit, I'm not moving anywhere." The two boys thanked Saprisi as they stepped off board and helped him pick up the remaining oysters. Once they were all back in place, the man who dropped them said,

"Thank you." Saprisi clapped him on the back with one of his massive hands, almost causing the poor man to drop the bucket again.

"It was no trouble. If I recall correctly, it was my fault." The man looked to Saprisi and smiled. When he glanced back to his boat, however, his face fell. Saprisi allowed himself a glance in the direction the oysterman was looking and saw what upset him. His boat was full of crates of oysters. Normally that would be something to celebrate, but it appeared that the man was alone and would have to unload all of it by himself. It would take him a good hour and a half to finish the job. Saprisi nudged John and Sherlock with his elbow as he said,

"Hey, do you two boys want to help this man? He looks like he's quite a good oyserman and has a lot of shell to unload." The man's face lit up as Sherlock and John said, "Sure!" in unison. So as Saprisi rolled barrels full of fish off of his boat, John, Sherlock and the oysterman were hauling crates of oysters to the man's station at the market just off the dockside. About twenty minutes later, the job was done and the man thanked them by allowing each of them to take a bucket of oysters with them. They showed Saprisi their prize, who ruffled their hair as he said,

"Good job, laddies. I'll keep those safe here, you be off. Remember, be back an hour before sunset! I'd hate to leave you behind." He gave them a hearty wink and they were off, wandering the wharfside market. Some of the vendors sold their items on stands or tables, while a few of them were proper shops, where you could go inside. At the market were only the necessities like food and cloth, but some of the proper shops sold other items that didn't needed to be bought as often like shoes, soap or paper. Wandering along the street, the boys ogled at some of the sweets at the small candy shoppe and allowed themselves to look at the shiny shoes at the window of the cobbler. They didn't go in a store until they walked a bit farther and Sherlock saw-

"The tinker!" In his excitement, he accidentally hit John in the chest with his outstretched arm. He heard John grunt and said, "Sorry!" John rubbed his chest and said,

"What's so special about the tinker?"

"We can get the pot there! For Saprisi!" Sherlock smiled as he saw comprehension dawn on his friend's face.

"Oh! Let's go then!" They dashed down the street and slowly opened the door to the little tinker shop. Neither one of them could remember the last time they were in a shop, so it was a bit strange for both of them. It was almost like walking into an old memory.

The shop they had just entered was quite small and lined with shelves and pegs. The window facing the street was large and let in a lot of sunlight, but the dark wood that covered the floor and walls seemed to counteract this. They looked around, taking in all of the details; the sound the aged wood made as it creaked beneath their feet, the smell of a fire, the large blacksmith's station they could see towards the back, with coals as red as cherries and the largest set of bellows either one of them had ever seen. The shop was dim, but seemed to glimmer; the small toys that sat on the many shelves and some of the newer tools that were dangling off of pegs were shiny and reflected the sunlight all over the shop. Distracted by all there was to see, they hung by the door, waiting for someone to appear at the counter. On the little counter was a few small metal toys along with a few proper tools; this man was not only a tinker, he was also a smithy. This was good news to the two boys, this meant that he might have the pot that they were looking for. John reached for one of the toys on the counter; a small metallic mouse. Curious, he turned the key that stuck out of its back and set it down on the counter again. John had never seen a wind-up toy before, so he was quite startled when it skittered away.

"Did you see that?!" John pointed to the small mouse, still traveling across the counter.

"Yeah, I saw it. What's the big deal?" To John, Sherlock acted really calm for someone who had just watched a metal mouse come to life and watched it walk across the counter.

"Is it supposed to do that? Move and stuff?" John asked, incredulous. A deep voice answered him from behind the blacksmith station.

"Aye, it _is_ supposed to do that. You've never seen a wind-up toy?" The tinkerer stepped into the light and the boys saw a strapping man, almost as muscled as Saprisi. He was wearing a leather apron and heavy black boots, both common clothes for the trade. Leaning up against the counter, he pulled out a small screwdriver and said,

"Look at the gears inside; when you wind the key, it turns the wheels." The tinker unscrewed the shiny metal shell of the mouse to reveal an array of worn out and dull gears. "This one's broken though. Made her out of spare parts." He popped the shell back in place and began replacing the screws as he said, "So, how can I help you boys?" John was still stunned silent by the metal mouse, so Sherlock spoke for them.

"We are looking for a pot. Not a big one, just one that's about this big." Sherlock held out his hands, indicating a size for the tinker. The tinker rubbed his chin distractedly as he said,

"Sure, I have one like that. But how are you going to pay for it?" Sherlock and John had completely forgotten about this small obstacle; the last time either of them had seen a pound was beyond their memory. Sherlock came up with an answer though.

"How about we trade?" The tinker laughed.

"What do _you_ have to trade me?" Sherlock smiled slyly as he said,

"Fish." The tinker stood up straight and replaced the small screwdriver in one of the many pockets of the leather apron.

"You boys have enough fish to buy a pot from me?" He was skeptical of them, but Sherlock did his best to convince him.

"That depends. How many fish does a pot cost?" The tinker pulled a pot from under the counter they were standing behind, just the size they needed. He sat it on the counter carefully and said,

"For this one? Ten." That was a lot of fish for a pot, and they all knew it. Before Sherlock could argue though, John broke his silence.

"Make it five and you have a deal." The tinker shook his head.

"Seven." John shook his head, but Sherlock spoke.

"Fine. Seven, _if_ you let us have a small jar of your preserves." The tinker's mouth fell open at this demand.

"Why do you think I have an extra jar of preserves to give you? Times are tight as it is," he asked in a rather flustered voice. Sherlock narrowed his eyes before he answered.

"Not as tight on you and your wife as it is on others. You make good business as a tinker and your wife sells the preserves that she makes under the table. No coupons involved." The look of surprise on the man's face was bordering on comical.

"How could you know that?!" John smirked as he saw Sherlock roll his eyes.

"Your apron has a purple stain on it, and I don't think _you_ would be one to jar blueberries, so I figured your wife would be the one doing it since you have a ring on your left hand." The man looked to his apron, where to his surprise, he saw a large purple stain where Sherlock indicated. He sighed as he said in a resigned voice,

"You're right, my wife uses the same apron when she uses the large pot over the fire to boil the berries. Looks like I've been outwitted by two schoolboys. I'll get your pot and jar of preserves ready. I presume you have to go fetch the fish?" John and Sherlock nodded. As they walked out of the shop to get the fish, Sherlock said over his shoulder,

"We'll be back in 15 minutes." The two of them ran all the way back to the station where Saprisi was selling fish. John began picking out seven of the biggest fish he could find while Sherlock found some twine to tie them in a line. Saprisi greeted them, saying,

"Hello boys! What are you doing back so soon? Are you okay?" They frantically tied up the selected fish as they John said,

"Yes, we're fine." Sherlock tied on the last fish and said,

"See you soon, Saprisi!" They each grabbed an end of the line and ran off without another word, leaving Saprisi with the rest of his fish.


	14. A Pearl in the Sea

The two boys burst into the shop, eyes wild and fish swinging. Inside the glimmering store, they saw the tinker wrapping up their pot in brown paper, tying it all together with some twine. John and Sherlock proudly laid the fish on the counter for the strapping man to see. The tinker picked them up and hung them on a peg by his blacksmith station. As he sauntered back over to the counter, Sherlock asked,

"Hey, where is the jar of preserves?" The tinker gestured to the neatly-wrapped pot with a wave of his hand and said,

"I wrapped it up in there, sonny." Sherlock carefully picked up the pot and felt its weight; it was much heavier than it was before. Sherlock shrugged off his pack and began to pack the pot inside, saying,

"Thank you Mister…" He paused because they never learned the tinker's name. The man finished the sentence for Sherlock.

"Mister Smith. Eurion Smith." Sherlock allowed himself a smile as he tied up his pack.

"I should have guessed, you being a smithy and all." smiled at this statement.

"I guess you are right." While and Sherlock were having this conversation, curiosity got the better of John. He picked up the mouse, turned the key, and placed it back on the counter. This time when the little mouse scuttled away, John was amazed rather than starled. Once it stopped moving, the tinker picked it up and tossed it to John saying,

"Here. You can keep it. She's made of spare parts and you boys payed me well." He paused before adding, "I don't think I've ever met a little boy that hasn't seen a wind-up toy before." John looked at the worn metal mouse cradled carefully in his hands as he whispered,

"Thank you ." John was still staring at his mouse when said,

"My pleasure, sonny. Those are the largest silversides I've ever seen, I'll be eating well for a while." Both boys looked up to the tinker, confused.

"Silversides?" Sherlock asked. nodded and gestured to the fish hanging up behind him.

"Yeah, silversides. Isn't that what they are called?" The boys shrugged their shoulders. Sherlock answered him with,

"I don't know. We just call them _fish_." The tinker laughed and said,

"I like your wit, sonny. You boys and your father must be good fishermen to catch fish that big." This time John asked the question that they both thought.

"Father?"

"Yeah, I'm assuming he is the one that helped you catch them? You boys must work with him on his boat, just like I worked with my father in the smithy, learning how to smite metal." Neither of them had the heart to tell him the truth, so they just nodded in response. John pocketed the small mouse as they turned to leave. Before the door closed behind them Sherlock said,

"Thank you, !" The walk back was a sombre one. The reminder of their fathers cut them a bit deeper than they expected. Maybe because it was the way he had said it so casually, maybe because he had simply blindsided them with the term. _Father_. The way he had mentioned his own father stung them both because John missed his own and Sherlock wished that he had one worth missing. Whatever the reason was, the walk back to Saprisi and the fish was a lot less exciting than the trip they took to get to the tinker. They remained silent all the way back. They didn't speak until Saprisi saw them and said,

"What's the matter with you two? You look like you've seen a ghost." They didn't want to tell him about their visit to the tinker, in case he figured out what they bought for him there. So they just shrugged their shoulders and walked the short distance to the little red boat so that they could drop their packs in the cabin. Once their packs were in place, they made their way back to Saprisi so that they could help him sell the remaining fish. Saprisi was the best at haggling, so the boys let him talk to the customers and they wrapped up the fish in newspaper and took the coins from the customers. Their sombre mood lessened slightly when a little boy of around three years came up to the stand and Saprisi plucked him off the ground and swung him in a circle, much to the surprise of his mother. It was a good laugh, but their insides still felt as grey as the persistent stormclouds that seemed a permanent installation over the little damp island they lived on. When it came time to pack up, there were barely twenty fish left, so they each tied up a few in a line and made their way back to the little red boat. Inside the cabin, Saprisi started up the engine as the boys sprawled out on the mattress. Saprisi could feel the uneasiness that seemed to emanate from his little passengers; they were so caught up in their thoughts that they had completely forgotten to continue reading _The Hobbit. _

"You two boys okay? You've barely spoken a word since you returned. Something I should know about?" He glanced back in their direction, but they remained where they were on the mattress. The only response he got from them was a heavy sigh from Sherlock. He tried making conversation again. "Where did you boys go?" This time, John sat up and walked over to Saprisi by the wheel. John dug his hand deep in his pocket and pulled out the little metal mouse and passed it to Saprisi. Saprisi took it, the metal still warm from sitting in John's pocket for so long. He turned the key and placed it on the deck; he let out one of his famous laughs when he saw it travel across the floor. "I had one of these when I was a boy!" John and Saprisi watched the mouse run around the cabin. Eventually it made its way to the mattress Sherlock was still laying on. Sherlock rolled over to face the mouse as it passed by. He liked the mouse; it reminded him of the one he had had when he was smaller. He smiled at it and soon enough, this small metal mouse had the three of them smiling quietly to themselves as it walked across the floor. When it finally ran out of life, Sherlock picked it up and carefully wound it again. As he replaced it on the floor, he asked Saprisi,

"Who taught you how to fish?" Saprisi was quite taken aback at this question. It seemed to come from out of the blue and he had to think for a minute to get his thoughts together.

"To be completely honest, it was my mother that taught me." This caught the boys' attention; when he turned to look at their reactions, Saprisi saw both of their mouths open in a comical O. Sherlock was the first to recover from this surprise.

"Your _mother_?" Saprisi nodded.

"Aye, it's true. My father was a whaler and it was a whale that got him in the end. He left my mother, sister and I the little shack we were living in and a boat. So we all learned to fish together." That was an answer the boys were not expecting.

"No way," whispered John in amazement. Saprisi nodded and continued with,

"It's the truth. There isn't a stronger person than my mother and sister. Boys may be stronger, but women are tougher. Don't you forget that. My mother and sister may not have been able to lift the nets full of fish by themselves, but I've seen them weather storms better than some of the most seasoned fishermen, myself included." The boys nodded, seeing the truth in his words. John thought of his mother and sister and all they had been through since the war started. John had never doubted them for a single moment. Sherlock thought of his own mother and all she had done to protect him. They all had strong women in their lives, no doubt about it. After a long moment's silence, Sherlock said rather quietly,

"Sorry about your father." Saprisi looked back out over the ocean and released a heavy sigh. He shrugged before he said,

"Thank you, sonny. He was a good man, except for the whaler in him. To slay such a mighty beast…" Saprisi paused as he struggled to fit the right words together, "It is a difficult task, and a shameful one. They are such beautiful creatures, so large and...majestic out in the sea. When we go to the real ocean one day, I'll point one out to you boys. They are a beauty to watch." This cheered John up considerably; he had seen pictures of whales but he had never seen one in real life.

"Really?"John asked in amazement. Saprisi smiled and said,

"Of course." Sherlock, still thinking of the tinker, asked,

"Hey, Saprisi? What is the name of the fish we catch?"

" The silver ones? Herring." Sherlock finally sat up on the mattress, still tangled in one of the blankets.

"What do you mean by 'silver ones?' Have we ever caught anything else?" Saprisi laughed before he answered Sherlock's question.

"I used to catch all sorts of strange things all the time. It feels like an age, but you haven't been fishing with me for long, Sherlock. When I drag my net along the bottom, lots more than fish come up." This sparked both the boys' curiosity. John asked,

"What else have you caught?" Saprisi looked out over the grey horizon as he collected his thoughts.

"Well, mostly other bottom dwellers. Flatfish and some other strange looking creatures." Saprisi paused before he added, "Oh! One time I pulled up a tire. It was covered in barnacles. There was even a crab living on the inside, right next to the smallest little starfish I've ever seen." John was amazed.

"You pulled up a _tire_? What was that doing in the middle of the ocean?" Saprisi laughed again before he responded with,

"I have no idea what it doing in the ocean, sonny." John let Saprisi tousle his hair one last time before he made his way over to Sherlock, still tangled in one of the blankets. He took a seat next to his friend, stealing a blanket to cover himself up with. Sherlock, finally gathering the energy to pull off the blanket in order to give it to John, asked,

"What's the weirdest thing you've ever pulled out of the ocean in your net?" A few moment's silence passed before Saprisi answered.

"Well, once my sister and I pulled up a horse skeleton-" Saprisi was cut off by the boys' surprised remarks.

"_A horse skeleton_?" Saprisi nodded.

"Yep. Another time, just last year, I pulled up a wooden box. Not too big, about the size of a small jewelry box." John whispered,

"What was in it?" Saprisi shrugged.

"I wish I knew. It's locked and I don't have the key. I'd hate to break it though, I might break whatever is inside." Sherlock gasped at this statement.

"Do you still have it?" A nod from Saprisi.

"Yes, but I don't see why it matters." Miraculously, Saprisi reached into his own bag and fished out a small, nondescript wooden box. It had a few barnacles on the top, but besides that, it would be hard to tell that the small wooden box had spent some time sitting amongst the fish at the bottom of the ocean. Sherlock, upon setting eyes on the box, jumped up and crossed the cabin in two strides.

"I have my picks with me!" he exclaimed as he pulled his tools out of his pocket and carefully took the box from Saprisi. They all sat quietly as Sherlock worked at the lock. Saprisi quietly whispered,

"Why didn't I think of this before?" No one answered him; they were too absorbed in their own thoughts. Only a few more moments passed them by before they all heard the tell-tale _click_ of the lock. They all had the same thought. _What was inside? _They all gathered around the small box to peer inside as Sherlock carefully pried the lid open. Inside of the box was only one thing: a handkerchief. It was once white, but the time it had spent sitting the mud had turned the fabric a yellowy color. Sherlock, curious, pulled the handkerchief out of the box. When the fabric was free from the box, something slid from the folds and fell to the deck with a _clink_. John searched and found the object: it was a locket. The gold had lost its lustre but retained all of its beauty; as it swung from John's grasp, they could see the carefully-etched design on the front. Without a word, John passed the locket to Saprisi, who did his best to pry it open. Try as he might, the locket was unyielding. It simply refused to open. Saprisi broke the silence with,

"Sorry boys. It looks like we may have solved one mystery only to find another." He chuckled as he looked closer at the little locket. "How ironic it is." Sherlock, still holding the small wooden box in his hand, said,

"Is it irony or coincidence?" No none had an answer, so they remained silent. Saprisi passed the locket to Sherlock, who wrapped it back up in the handkerchief and replaced it back in the wooden box. Tossing the box back to Saprisi, he said,

"Hey, when is your next run to Dover?" Saprisi placed the box back in his bag and scanned the horizon as he said,

"If you'd like, I can drop you guys there tomorrow. I need to meet up with my contact in France since I missed him today, so I can drop you off on the way." Sherlock nodded and said,

"Cool. John and I will see you then." He made his way over back to his blanket cocoon on the mattress before he said, "Hey, John? Want to read _The Hobbit_?" In answer, John took a seat next to his friend and rifled through his bag for the book. He read all the way back to London.

It was on their way home from the wharfside, each of them carrying their bucket of oysters they had won from the oysterman, when John decided to ask Sherlock the question he had been wondering since he began reading _The Hobbit _on their way home.

"Why do we want to go to Dover again tomorrow?" Sherlock kicked a pebble down the street and watched it bounce into a rather large pile of rubble before he answered.

"Well, I know someone who can open the locket at the market we were at today." John, surprised, asked,

"Really? Who?" Sherlock scoffed at his friend's response.

"The tinker!" he exclaimed, as if it was obvious. John, a little abashed, whispered,

"Oh." Thinking about the tinker, he asked, "But do you think he will do it for free? Because you and I don't have a pence between us and we won't have fish to pay him with until _after_ Saprisi stops in France." Sherlock had failed to see this obstacle in their way and furrowed his brow in thought.

"Oh! I've been begging Saprisi to try it for ages! We can longline for fish!" John had no idea what this meant, and his face must have shown it because Sherlock immediately continued with, "It's where there is one giant rope with like ten hooks on it and we trail it off the stern of the boat. It's like fishing with a pole, but we don't have a pole so we just put it in the water behind the boat and hope that it will work." John had never been pole-fishing before, but he had seen people do it in the Thames.

"Okay. Does Saprisi have bait for the hooks?" Sherlock nodded.

"Yep, where he keeps the green overalls is where he keeps the bait and hooks."

"Cool. So we can get fish for the tinker."

"Yep." Sherlock paused before he remembered, "We also have like twenty fish leftover from today that didn't sell."

"So we _don't_ have to longline?"

"I guess not. But it'll be fun to try." They were approaching John's front door, so they put down their buckets for a moment and tried to smooth out their clothes. They weren't dirty, but the smell of the oysters was pretty rank and they hoped that it hadn't transferred onto their clothes. Once they looked over each other's appearance one last time, they picked up their buckets and walked the short distance to the front door and knocked. Barely a minute passed before opened it, saying,

"It's unlocked, you can come in…" her sentence trailed off as she saw the two boys standing on the front stoop. Sherlock simply said,

"Our hands are a bit full." Without further ado, John stepped past his mother and into the house, depositing his oysters in the kitchen. stepped aside to let Sherlock in, who followed his friend down the hall into the kitchen.

"What did you boys bring me today?" asked , with a nervous tone in her voice. Sherlock, still a bit uncomfortable with the fact that he was now a Watson resident, remained silent. John answered her saying,

"Oysters!" He held up a few for her to see. She was delighted.

"I love oysters! Why don't you two tell me about your day and where you got these while I cook?" pulled out a pot and a paring knife and sat at her place at the table. With her knife, she began prying apart the oysters and putting their meat into the pot. Sherlock pulled out one of his picks and began helping . John got up to grab a knife for himself as Sherlock began telling about the marketplace. John sat listening as he helped separate the stubbornly strong oysters. As he listened, he noticed that he left the jar of preserves out of his story. John figured there must be a reason, so he didn't mention it. Stuck on a particularly stubborn oyster, John cried out when it finally opened with a _pop_. As it opened, his knife slipped and cut his finger. He watched as the hot, red blood ran from his fingertip. It wasn't serious, but it hurt quite a bit. He didn't want to suck on it since his hands were covered in brine, so he said,

"Mum? What should I do? Run it under hot water?" Silence followed his question. "Mum…" John looked up from his wound to see his mother and friend staring at the oyster he had just shelled. Annoyed, John said,

"Who cares about the oyster! Mum, what should I do, do I need a band-aid? Should I..." he trailed off as he saw what they were looking at. Sitting in the oyster he had just shelled, he saw...

"A pearl? Is that what a real one looks like?" Sherlock and were speechless. Sherlock's mouth hung open in surprise and 's hands covered her own mouth. After a moment's more silence, carefully fished the pearl from the shell and whispered,

"Wow." Her voice grew louder as she said, "Wow. You found a pearl, John!" Unsure of what to say, John said,

"You can have it, mum. I don't really have a need for it." carefully wrapped it up in a rag and placed it in her pocket.

"I'll keep it in my jewelry box until you decide what to do with it." She noticed John's cut for the first time; blood was still coming from the wound and dripping into his palm. "Come here, let me wash that out for you." She grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the sink. Sherlock kept shelling the oysters with his picks. He said,

"Can you believe it John, you found a pearl! Wait 'til we tell Saprisi tomorrow!" A grin spread across John's face at the thought of telling Saprisi on the way to Dover.

"Yeah, he'll he pleased. If only he trawled for oysters, he'd have enough pearls for a necklace!" They all laughed and once John's finger was properly bandaged, they talked about how good the oysters were going to taste.

And good they were. Maybe the oysters didn't compliment the ever-present potato, but they tasted delicious nonetheless. For the second night in a row, everyone ate until they were full. It was the greatest feeling in the world, falling asleep with a full stomach. That night everyone fell asleep easily despite the cold. Only John and Sherlock stayed up late, sitting by the light of a single candle upstairs in the attic space they shared with Harriet. They sat cross-legged on the floor, carefully untying the twine that held together the wrappings of the pot. As Sherlock pulled away the last bit of twine John whispered,

"Why didn't you mention the preserves to my mum?" Sherlock coiled the twine around his hand as he whispered back,

"I thought it would make a nice Christmas present for her." John smacked his hand to his forehead, feeling stupid.

"You think of everything. What am I going to get her?" Sherlock paused in his unwrapping, chuckling to himself.

"Relax, mate. It can be from both of us. You _did_ help catch the fish we used to pay."

"Thanks. I owe you one." Both of them smiled as they caught each other's eye before Sherlock went back to unwrapping the pot. Carefully removing the brown paper, they looked inside and found not only the jar of preserves they were promised, but two small packages, wrapped in the same brown paper as the pot. As they pulled them out, they noticed a note sitting at the bottom if the pot. Written with scratchy letters, the note read,

_Dear Boys,_

_Here is a Christmas gift from me. You boys are clever; you were right when you said that my wife and I make good business. We are better off than most, including you two if I am to judge by the many jumpers you were wearing to keep warm. So this is my way of giving back. Christmas must be a tough time for your family, so I want to make sure you get at least one present this year. They may not be the best gifts, but I hope you enjoy them._

_Cheers, _

_P.S. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me. _

They finished reading the letter and Sherlock said,

"Well, that was nice of him. Looks like we've made a new friend." They took a second look at the gifts they were given. One was labeled _for the curly haired lad _and the other _for the blond lad._ They chuckled at the way labeled each of their gifts; it hadn't occurred to them that he hadn't learned their names. Before they rewrapped the pot, they carefully placed each of their gifts in the corner by where their packs sat. Once the gifts were stowed and the pot as nicely wrapped as before, they decided that it was time for bed and blew out the candle. Sherlock had remade his spot on the floor, determined to spend the night there. However, it was less than an hour before John heard a whisper,

"Hey, John? Are you awake?" John allowed himself a small smile before he rolled over and answered,

"Yes, Sherlock." There was a nervous pause before Sherlock asked,

"Can I sleep with you?" John answered with a sleepy whisper.

"Of course." As Sherlock got out from under his covers and placed his mother's fish quilt on top of John's, John asked, "Bad dream?" Sherlock crawled under John's covers before he whispered back,

"Yeah, the beginnings of one." He shuffled deeper under the covers before adding, "It's also a lot warmer under here." John smiled as he caught Sherlock's eye. Before he rolled over, John whispered,

"Goodnight, Sherlock." Sherlock whispered back,

"Goodnight, John," and for the second night in a row, they fell asleep with the sound of each other's breath in their ears.

**Hello guys. Sorry it's been awhile, life can be a real bitch sometimes. I'm feeling better than I was earlier in the week, so I'll try to post the next chapter quicker than I did this one. I hope everyone else is feeling well and warm. Cheers!**


	15. Hooks

"John. Psssst," Sherlock whispered into the dark. He hadn't thrashed around as he had the night previously, but Sherlock had woken up in a cold sweat from a nightmare. "Are you awake, John?" John didn't respond to his questions, so Sherlock gently poked him on the shoulder with an outstretched finger. "Hey, are you awake?" John rolled over to face Sherlock. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he whispered,

"No." Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Then why did you answer me?" John yawned and replied with,

"Nevermind. What's up?" Sherlock's voice caught in his throat. Now that John was awake he wasn't sure that he wanted to discuss his nightmare. John understood the awkward pause and asked, "Was it another bad dream?" Sherlock nodded. He wasn't quite ready to speak yet, so John filled in the gaps. "Your dad?" Another nod from Sherlock. Sherlock felt his throat tighten with emotion and his eyes prick as he tried to hold his tears inside. Try as he might, a single tear fell from his eye and traced its path down his face. It landed on the pillow before he made a motion to wipe it off of his face. John, unsure of what to do, said,

"It was only a dream. No matter what, he can't hurt you any more, Sherlock. _He's gone_." Sherlock managed to pull off a weak smile before he whispered very faintly,

"But you're _wrong_. Wherever he is, he can't touch me. But he's still hurting me. I can't get rid of these memories. Or the dreams." Sherlock sat up before he added, "I tried _so hard_. To forget everything. Everything was supposed to get better once I came to England. My dad was gone, Saprisi looked after me, I even met _you_." Sherlock smiled rather weakly again. The barriers had fallen; he couldn't hold in his emotions anymore. His voice was steady but the stream of hot, fat tears that fell from his eyes betrayed him. "He's still hurting me, just in a different way than before." John sat up too, placing his hands on his friend's shoulders. He looked into Sherlock's face when he said,

"None of this was supposed to happen." He paused before adding, "Wouldn't your mum be proud of you?" Sherlock, who was still looking at his hands in his lap, raised his gaze to meet John's. Sherlock nodded and said in a defeated voice,

"I think so." John gave his friend a reassuring shake as he said,

"I _know_ she would have been." He finally made an effort to wipe his face and used his pyjama sleeve to remove all evidence of the tears he had recently shed. He smiled a real smile this time.

"Thanks, mate." John mimicked Sherlock's smile as he said,

"No problem." They laid back down and pulled the covers up to their chins.

"Goodnight, John," whispered Sherlock.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," whispered John.

The boys were up and dressed before could come up and check on them the next morning. They woke at dawn and immediately began to get ready for the day. They didn't want to have to run all the way to the wharf as they had the morning before. They were very quiet while they were getting ready, so they startled when they walked into the kitchen so early.

"Good lord, boys. I nearly jumped out of my skin." The two boys mumbled an apology as continued with, "What are you doing up so early? Going to see Saprisi again?" They nodded in unison as they waited for their slices of toast to cook. They were eager to leave and could tell, so instead of giving them their toast on a plate, she wrapped each piece in a paper napkin and sent them off with, "Go on, I can tell you want to get there as soon as you can. Give Saprisi my kind regards." Their smiles reached their ears and they ran out of the door before could even give them a swift kiss on the cheek.

They wharfs were finally in sight before Sherlock broke the friendly silence between them. John's stomach rumbled and he pulled his slice of toast out of his pack. Before he could unwrap it from the napkin, Sherlock yanked the bread, still warm, from his grasp.

"Hey!" exclaimed John. "What the hell do you think you are doing?" Sherlock, struggling to keep the bread from his friend stopped short at his exclamation. This momentary pause allowed John to take back his coveted slice of toast. Sherlock finally spoke, saying,

"That's the first time I've heard you swear." He sounded surprised. There was also a hint of pride in his voice. John, still checking to make sure there was no damage to his food, said in an irritated voice,

"Yeah, well that's the first time you took my bread from me!" Sherlock, abashed, looked to the ground before he said,

"Sorry, mate. I acted before I explained. You can't eat your bread yet." John confused and clutching his toast, asked,

"Why not?"

"Because it's part of my plan to get the locket from Saprisi." John was still confused, but instead of asking his question, put his breakfast back into his pack. They began walking again and John's curiosity finally got the better of him.

"Won't Saprisi just give us the locket if we ask?" Sherlock shrugged his shoulders in response.

"Not sure. If we ask and he says no, he'll be looking for it. If we just take it, he won't notice it's gone. Safer to just borrow it for the day." John saw the reasoning behind this, but wasn't sure why it was so important to save their toast. He asked,

"What does that have to do with our bread?"

"Saprisi will see that we haven't eaten and offer us some of the preserves in his pack. When we search through the inside for the preserves, we can take the locket out of the box it lives in," explained Sherlock. John's eyes widened with comprehension and Sherlock smiled when he glanced over and saw this. John whispered in amazement,

"You really do think of everything." Sherlock chuckled and said,

"Thanks, mate." He paused a moment before adding, "Race you the rest of the way!"

They ran the rest of the way to Saprisi, who was waiting for them with outstretched arms and a smile on his face. He picked them up and crushed them in one of his bear hugs. When he placed them back in the dock, they were rubbing their ribs and trying to regain their breath. This day was sunnier than the last, but just as cold. Their breath hung on the salty air as they panted, each inhalation searing the inside of their lungs. Saprisi pat them on the backs, almost knocking them into the water.

"You boys get inside, I'll be inside in a moment." They did as they were told and instead of sitting on the mattress this time, they sat in Saprisi's seat behind the wheel. Even though they were inside, their breath still clung to the air. They took advantage of this and fogged up the corner of the windshield. In the fog on the glass they drew several fish. Saprisi stepped inside the cabin and when he saw them drawing on the glass, he let out one of his rumbling laughs and said,

"When I was a boy, I did the same." He walked over to where they were sitting and fogged up the area above their fish with his own breath. With his finger, he traced a boat and said, "There, now we are in the picture." They smiled at his addition and moved to their spot on his mattress at the back of the cabin. Saprisi started the engine and smiled one last time at the picture they drew on the glass before he wiped it away. Now that he could see out the front window, he began to steer them out into the Thames. Once he was out in the water, Sherlock took his bread from his pack and indicated that John should do the same. As they were unwrapping their bread from the napkins, Saprisi turned to ask them a question. He saw them begin to munch on the toast and tossed them his pack, saying,

"Here you go, you know where the preserves are." Saprisi turned back to the window and they boys quickly undid the ties on the pack. They were so pleased that their plan worked that they struggled to hide their smiles. As Sherlock carefully nicked the locket from the wooden box, John spread the preserves on their toast. When all was taken care of, they put the pack back, ate their breakfast, and read _The Hobbit_, just as they would normally. John didn't stop reading until they reached the mouth of the Thames. Just as they had the days previously, Saprisi called them over and they all gathered at the window, looking out over the water. After a couple minutes of staring at the horizon, Saprisi finally said,

"No grey boat today. Looks like we will be running as normal." He smiled at the thought, and Sherlock used this opportunity to ask about the longlining.

"Hey, Saprisi? Can John and I try longlining?" Saprisi continued to look out over the horizon. He ran his hand through his wiry beard before he said,

"I don't see why not. Hold the wheel while I go get the hooks." Without further ado, he abandoned his wheel and walked out of the cabin to go get the supplies. Sherlock jumped up and quickly grabbed the wheel before anything could happen. The water was rough and the waves rapped the side of the boat. Less than a minute could go by before the waves tossed them off track. Sherlock, tugging the wheel in the right direction, said,

"Well, that was easier than I thought." John moved from his spot on the mattress and took a seat next to Sherlock at the wheel. Sherlock looked over the horizon as John tried to make sense of all the charts and navigational tools sitting on the table space behind the wheel. Sherlock poked his friend to get his attention and said,

"Hey, wanna steer?" Before John could even answer, Sherlock let go of the wheel. The boat immediately, and rather violently, rocked to the left. John seized the wheel and righted the vessel before anything else could be done. John was genuinely worried and his heart was still racing when he looked over to see his friend doubled up with silent laughter.

"Hey…" He began to ask a question, but Sherlock was still trying to compose himself. "I have no idea how to steer a ship! What do I do?" Sherlock waved his hand, gesturing to the vast expanse of water outside.

"You're doing fine! Just keep doing what you are doing!" Saprisi chose that moment to walk in, hands full of string and fish, and say,

"Sherlock, what the hell was that fo-" he stopped when he saw who was sitting in his chair. His eyes moved from John to Sherlock, who was still trying not to laugh. "I see; you left your friend high and dry." This time, they all laughed. John was the first to speak, saying,

"I'd say sorry Saprisi, but it was Sherlock's fault." Saprisi stepped next to John and dumped the hooks, fish, and string on top of the charts John had tried to read before. Saprisi chuckled at this remark and said,

"You're doing fine, sonny. But if what you say is true, then I guess it's Sherlock who owes me an apology." Sherlock scoffed and said,

"What for? The ship is still on course, it's not like I _sunk_ the ship." For the duration of the conversation, the three of them had been looking out the window, staring at the waves ahead. When Sherlock asked his question however, the focus moved from the window to hand that Saprisi held up. The back of Saprisi's knuckles are heavily scarred, just like any other fisherman's. Below the scars, lodged in the soft, fleshy part of the skin, was a hook. The hook pierced all the way through his skin; he was 'caught' just as a fish would be. Sherlock, seeing the hook caught in Saprisi's hand, blanched and began to stammer an apology.

"Ohmygosh, Saprisi, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-" Sherlock was cut off by one of Saprisi's bellowing laughs.

"No worries, sonny. I've been caught by hooks more times than I can count." He paused as he gently tugged on the hook. "See, it could be worse. It only pierced my skin. Pass me the cutters." Sherlock picked up one of the many tools sitting on the charts and passed it to Saprisi. Saprisi snipped the hook where the barb stuck out of his skin. He then pulled the hook, without the sharp point, out of the wound. He put the hook on the tablespace and held up his hand, saying,

"See? Doesn't even hurt." The wound the hook left behind looked like a large spider bite. Sherlock was still as white as a ghost. Saprisi patted his little passenger on the back, saying, "Don't worry about it, Sherlock. It could be worse. I could have caught my arm." At this statement, Saprisi rolled up one of his sleeves to reveal a scar about half an inch long. "When I was a kid, my sister got me. It didn't catch my skin like this time, it got proper stuck." John winced at the thought. He asked,

"How did you get it out of your arm?"

"There was no choice, I had to rip it out." Saprisi chuckled at the horrified look on their faces. "It hurt all right, but it's a good story." He rolled up his sleeve and glanced out of the window. He gasped and said, "Maybe I should take the wheel from here; your beach is coming up." John stepped aside and gave the wheel back to Saprisi. As John packed up _The Hobbit, _he noticed that Sherlock managed to nick a few of the fish Saprisi brought back to use as bait.

Their packs all set, they headed to the bow so they could get ready to jump. Just as before, the rush of panic hit John like a pile of bricks. He climbed over the railing to stand next to his friend; his knuckles were white from gripping the rails so hard. The panic reached a paramount as the vessel got closer and closer. John almost got cold feet, but he was so wired that he obeyed as he heard Sherlock yell _Jump_! It was only after he rolled through the sand and laughed off his nerves that he realized that even if he _hadn't_ jumped, the force of the crash of the boat on the beach would have thrown him off board.

They stripped off their shoes and socks and pushed Saprisi back out to sea. Back in the pebbly sand, they waved goodbye as they quickly put their socks and shoes back on. Sherlock stood up first, saying,

"Glad Saprisi wrapped the fish in newsprint. Otherwise my pack would smell for weeks." He picked up his pack and shouldered it. John did the same and said,

"Wait, how are we going to get to the tinker's?" Only now did he realize that they were far from the shops at the Dover wharfs. Sherlock shrugged and said,

"We walk. The wharfs aren't too far from here, only around five kilometers." John sighed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, good. Five isn't too bad." Sherlock nodded.

"Not bad at all. Let's be off." With that, they began to make their way up the cliff path.

**Hello. Sorry it took so long to post again. I was supposed to get better, but things haven't turned around yet. I've been stuck in this winter storm, so I've had time to write since everything has been cancelled/closed. Expect another (longer)chapter soon. I wish I could have updated yesterday, but the power outages have lasted until today. Hopefully I can get my life on track soon and then return to a quicker updating schedule. Keep warm and safe. Cheers! **


	16. The Locket

Once they reached the top of the cliff path, the two boys paused for a moment to look over the water. The sight never ceased to amaze and humble them. Looking down into what seemed to be an endless expanse of water, they felt really, really small. If they felt this small, how small would they feel if they got a glimpse of the real size of the sun? The solar system? The milky way? Sherlock shivered as he thought of this and was reminded of his insignificance in the universe. He tore his gaze away from the water to his friend, who made him smile. He was lucky to have John. _We may all be insignificant, but he is slightly less so. To me, at least._ John caught his friend smiling at him, so he said,

"What? Is there something on my trousers?" He looked down, searching for a stain or a tear. Sherlock began to walk in the direction of the wharfs, patting his friend on the back as he passed him.

"Nothing. Just a thought I had. Let's go." They were off again, walking over the large field of grass. Sherlock seemed sure of his way, whereas John was merely following. A thought struck John, so he asked,

"Hey, have you ever walked to the docks from the beach before?" Sherlock shook his head, his hands in his pockets.

"No. This is my first time." John was startled.

"Then how do you know where you are going? What if we are headed in the wrong direction?" Sherlock pointed to the sun and said,

"We aren't going in the wrong direction. The sun never lies." John was still confused. It must have shown on his face, because Sherlock continued with an explanation. "The sun always rises in the east, right? And…" Sherlock glanced at his watch, "Since it is before noon, we know that _that_ way…" He pointed to his right, "is east. In general. You get the idea. The wharfs, according to Saprisi's charts, are to the north of the beach we just landed on. So we just have to head north and keep the water in sight to our right and we will reach it." John was amazed.

"What if it was cloudy out though? The other day was so cloudy that the sun was barely visible." Sherlock furrowed his brows as he thought. Barely a moment passed before he had an answer.

"You've seen a map of England right? Dover is on the South shore. So if we are standing on a beach looking at the water, we are looking south. Sort of. As long as we did it from the beach we landed on." John saw what his friend was saying, but was still curious about this subject.

"What if it was nighttime? It's pitch dark and we are in the middle of nowhere. Would we just wait for the sun to rise in the morning?" Sherlock pointed to the sky again in response.

"No, the stars can tell us which direction is which." Sherlock gasped as a thought struck him. "Hey, I can show you tonight! I'll teach you the constellations and stuff." John was so startled by his friend's gasp a moment ago that he jumped. "Sorry, mate. Didn't mean to scare you." John was quick to recover and said,

"No problem, it'll be fun to learn. I might actually use it someday too." The two boys walked along in silence for a bit. It wasn't long before John's curiosity got the better of him. "Hey, where did you learn all of this?" Sherlock was silent for a few paces before he answered.

"The library." Silence filled the space between them again. It didn't last long though; barely a minute passed before John remembered,

"But the first time I met you, you said that they don't like you at the library." Sherlock smiled at this remark.

"Wow, I'm surprised you remembered that. It's true, the librarians don't like me. There was a time though where they didn't mind me, so I read a lot of books ." John felt like there was a story behind this, so he asked,

"Why don't they like you now?" Sherlock's smile grew as he began to explain.

"You know how I was sleeping in a different house every night, picking the locks? Before I had that system figured out, I slept in the library." He paused as he saw the look of shock pass across his friend's face. "Yeah, I would hide in the back until everyone went home. Then I would find a shelf to lie next to and fall asleep under my quilt. I would read by day and sleep next to the books at night." He paused for a moment as he looked over to see his friend's face of amazement. "They found out what I was doing eventually and that's when they kicked me out." John asked,

"Why the library?" Sherlock shrugged his shoulders in response.

"I like the smell of the books. I also liked the thought that I was surrounded by all those stories." John nodded. He understood the feeling; the smell of the old pages, worn and yellowed by time had a special place in his heart too. There was no greater comfort than a familiar book that told a favorite story. After another long silence, John said,

"Sorry they kicked you out." Sherlock smiled at this.

"That's okay; if they didn't I wouldn't have met you. And then where would I have been?" John mimicked Sherlock's smile. It was true, they would both most likely still be sad and lonely. They might have even been dead; John when he was locked out of the bomb shelter and Sherlock sneaking around London by himself.

Each of the boys was lost in their own thoughts. Their minds in different places, they spent the rest of their journey in silence, walking side-by-side, their hands in their pockets. It was Sherlock who eventually broke the reverie. He poked John to get his attention and pointed ahead.

"We are almost there, we just have to follow the path." John looked where Sherlock pointed and could see a path on the grass worn bare from use. When they reached it, they turned on it and it soon turned into a cobbled road; the same cobbled road that eventually led to the tinker's. Soon enough, they were pulling open the creaky door to the shop. They were greeted with a smile from .

"Hello, boys! What can I do for you today?" Sherlock reached into his pack and began pulling out the fish wrapped in newsprint and placing them on the counter. There were five fish in all, lying on the counter in a neat line; side-by-side. The tinker gave them a curious look before he asked,

"What are these for?" John answered first.

"For the gifts you gave us yesterday." The tinker nodded his head saying,

"You don't have to pay for them, me and my wife were happy to give-" Sherlock cut him off,

"Okay, then consider them payment for a favor." The tinker put his hands on his hips.

"What favor did I do for you?" At this statement, Sherlock placed the locket on the counter for to see.

"Can you open this for us?" Asked Sherlock. John quickly added,

"Without breaking it?" The strapping man took the delicate locket in his large, knotted hands. He spent a long minute looking it over; running his fingers over the design, tapping on the front with his finger, inspecting the delicate hinges. He pulled out a pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses out of the pocket on his apron and placed them on his face. He also pulled out a few small tools from the pocket and lined them up on the counter.

"Give me a minute, boys. I can get her open, but it'll be tricky." Sherlock smiled and John heaved a sigh of relief. He was worried for a moment that opening the lock was impossible and that they would never know what lied inside. They watched with admiration as the tinker placed the locket on the counter and began to work on it. Only now did they appreciate the patience and precision that it took to be a tinker. Each tool had its use and got its turn, and slowly but surely they could see the tinker make progress. The locket was gold, so it wasn't corroded and a patina didn't seal it shut like would have happened if it was made of copper. Instead, it was slightly squashed and the clasp holding it shut was barely recognizable. The tinker carefully shaped the metal back into place and soon it was almost back to as it was when it was new. The tinker was a while in fixing it, so the boys sat on the small bench lining one of the walls. A quarter of an hour went by; the silence filled by the quiet _tings_ and _clicks_ of some of the glittering toys in motion. They heard sigh and place his glasses on the counter. He announced,

"I'll be right back, I just need to find one of my tools in the back." They watched him disappear behind the hot coals and bellows. The boys could hear him shuffling his things around when a door from the other side of the shop burst open. A woman, red hair flying and a stomach the size of a watermelon, walked through the door, shouting,

"Cha dtuigum-" she stopped short when she saw the boys sitting on the bench. A smile spread across her face and she said in a much gentler voice,

"Dia dhaoibh. Tá áthas orm buaileadh libh. Mise Aileen, cén t-ainm atá oraibh?" The boys looked to each other for help. Too confused for words, all John could manage to say was,

"Errr…" Mercifully, tool in hand, the tinker emerged from behind the bellows. He saw the woman and a huge smile spread across his face. He placed his tool down on the counter and walked over to give her a peck on the cheek. He said,

"Boys, this is my wife, Aileen." Sherlock, still at a loss for words, said rather quietly,

"The jam-maker." The tinker nodded, the smile still on his face. John whispered,

"You're pregnant." Aileen laughed a long, happy laugh. Once she got her breath back, she said,

"I certainly am. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to scare you boys." Sherlock heard her broad accent and asked,

"Were you speaking Gaelic?" She nodded in response.

"Yes. I asked what your names are."

"I'm John."

"And I'm Sherlock." The tinker put his glasses back on and went back to work while Aileen walked over and sat next to them on the bench. She sat down and said,

"I'm willing to bet that you are the two boys that were in here yesterday." They nodded in response. She caught John looking at her voluminous belly, so she said,

"Want to feel her?" John, who was sitting closest to her, shook his head, saying,

"No, I didn't mean...I don't want to hurt-" She cut him off saying,

"You aren't going to hurt me! Here-" Aileen grabbed his hand and gently placed it on her belly. "Feel her kick?" After a moment, John felt a movement and his eyes grew wide with amazement. Aileen held his hand in place as she motioned for Sherlock to join. She placed his hand in a different spot, where he too felt a little kick. Feeling this little motion set several things into motion in his brain, and soon he was holding back tears. John could only tell because he knew him so well, but pretended not to see. He could ask him once he left the shop.

While they were feeling Aileen's belly, the tinker said,

"Aha!" to which they all got up and looked at the now-open locket on the counter. All four of them were looking upon a picture of neither a woman nor a man but-

"A dog?" said Aileen. Inside the locket sat a picture of a great, big saint bernard. The tinker asked,

"Why the hell would someone put a picture of a dog in a locket?" They all shrugged, too confused to come up with an answer. Sherlock added,

"It looks like we solved one question only to discover another." The tinker gently closed the locket and passed it back to Sherlock, who put it away in his bag. John said,

"Thank you . For opening the locket and the presents." smiled and said,

"It was my pleasure. If you ever need anything, don't be afraid to come by and ask." He shook both of their hands and Aileen added,

"You know where to find us." Sherlock smiled at her and pointed to her belly.

"Good luck." Rubbing her hands over her stomach, she thanked him.

"Thank you, should be any day now." John, watching her rub her belly was reminded of his own mother.

"If you ever need a quilt for your baby, my mum can make you one." Aileen smiled and bent down to give him a hug.

"Thank you, that would be lovely." She released John and gave Sherlock a hug. "Remember, anytime you need us, we are here." The boys waved their goodbyes as they walked out the door of the shop. John, who was walking behind Sherlock, saw him quickly wipe away a small tear. He waited until they were on the dirt path, away from the people shopping in the market, before he asked,

"Hey, what's up? I saw you got upset before when you felt her belly." Sherlock sounded congested when he said,

"Wait until we are on the grass." John agreed and waited a few tense minutes until they were back on the green, rolling hills. Sherlock took a breath and said, "I was just...thinking about my mum. She was supposed to have a baby." John suddenly remembered and searched for something to say. Nothing came to mind, so he just gave Sherlock a one-armed squeeze around the shoulders.

"I'm sorry, mate." Sherlock sniffled and turned to look at his friend.

"Thanks." John let go and they walked the rest of the way in silence. When they got to the chalk cliffs, they crawled on their bellies to the edge and looked out over the horizon, unseen by the little grey boat that sat on the water.


	17. Fare for the Train

After the boys had looked their fill, Sherlock made to stand up. Exposed on the edge of the cliff top, John's instincts told him that seemed like a bad idea. Before Sherlock could straighten up, John grabbed his collar and yanked him back to the ground.

"What the hell are-" Sherlock was cut off by John.

"Do you see it?" Sherlock, once he wiped the dirt off of his cheek with his sleeve, looked over to see his friend squinting at a point on the horizon.

"See what?" Sherlock pulled the sleeve from his face to find blood staining the cuff. The cut he had got only a few days previous was almost healed, but it was raw from the wind and cold, and split when Sherlock was pulled unceremoniously to the ground. He ignored the blood and looked to where John was staring. There, sitting on the horizon, was a grey boat. Just like the one they had seen the day before. Sherlock blanched and began inching back towards where they came, away from any prying eyes that might be sitting on the boat. John followed his friend and once they were below the ridge, Sherlock stood up and began to pace. Muttering under his breath and running his hands through his hair, Sherlock looked in a right state. This was the most nervous John had ever seen him and in an attempt to distract him, he asked to look at his cheek. He had just noticed that it was bleeding, so he said,

"Hey, can I look at your cheek? It looks like it might be serious." Sherlock didn't stop pacing when he said,

"We have bigger and more serious problems than my cheek at the moment." John knew that telling a panicked person to 'calm down' was probably the worst thing anyone could do. So instead he said,

"Hey, you know what my dad always says? Panic makes you dead." At this Sherlock stopped and looked at his friend.

"I guess you are right," and with that he plopped down on the grass. John took a seat beside him and asked,

"Can you explain what is going on?" asked John calmly. Sherlock took a deep breath before he replied.

"There is a grey boat out there."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock. I know that. In case you forgot, I was the one who pointed it out to you only a few moments ago." Sherlock gave his friend a scathing look before he continued.

"Yeah, well that means that Saprisi isn't coming back from France today. Normally I wouldn't mind, I would normally sleep in the cove, but…" He paused as he took a moment to string the right words together. "I don't want to worry your mum." John understood.

"Ah. So our ride back to London is going to be a day late." Sherlock nodded.

"Correct." They sat in silence for a while, trying to come up with a solution. After a quarter of an hour, Sherlock laid flat in the emerald grass, waving in the wind.

"How are we going to get home? We can't walk there." A moment of inspiration struck John.

"Hey! Is there a train here in Dover? I mean if there is, all roads lead to Rome, right? So there is a good chance there will be one to London." Sherlock sat up rather suddenly and said,

"There is!" Their excitement didn't last long though. Sherlock added, "But we don't have the money for the fare." Their optimism crushed, they stood up and looked back over the grassy hills, unsure of what to do with themselves. Another brilliant idea struck John like lightning.

"The tinker!"

"What about him?"

"He said if we ever needed anything, we could ask! We can borrow the fare and the next time we are in Dover, we can pay him back!" Sherlock grinned. Now that they had a plan, they were feeling much more optimistic.

"Okay, but we have to go to the cove first. Saprisi will go looking for us there first thing tomorrow, so we can leave him a note. He has a small suitcase hidden in the rocks, he knows I have an extra set of clothes there, so when he checks to see if they are gone, he will see the note." John agreed and a quick stop at the cove later, (John still didn't like climbing down the stairs) they made the 5-kilometer journey back to the tinker's shop.

The door opened with the tinkle of a bell and the tinker greeted them with,

"Hello again! Did you boys forget something?" They shook their heads. Before either of them could explain what was going on, Aileen, who was still in the shop, rushed over to Sherlock and held his face in her hands as she said,

"Did someone hurt you?" Sherlock brushed her off and said,

"I'm fine. Can you he-" Aileen however, wasn't having any of his 'I'm fine' business. She cut him off with,

"You are not fine! The whole side of your face is bleeding!" Sherlock responded with,

"It's just a cut! It's almost closed up now." Aileen scoffed. She turned to her husband and said,

"Don't let them leave until I get back." nodded and Aileen disappeared through the door they saw her enter before. Once she had left, asked,

"Are you boys alright?" John answered before Sherlock could say anything rash.

"Is there a train in town?" nodded and said,

"Sure thing. Just follow the cobbled road." Both of the boys sighed with relief. They had no back-up plan if there was no train. Aileen chose this moment to walk in with a damp rag and a small, black leather bag. She crouched down next to Sherlock and began to wipe his face. Sherlock protested and did his best to avoid her mother-henning, but he faltered under her withering gaze. As she wiped the blood off of his face, asked,

"Why do you boys need a train?" Between wipes of his face, Sherlock said,

"We need...to get...home." The strapping man looked confused. He scrunched his eyebrows together as he said,

"I thought you boys were from around these parts." John shook his head and said,

"No. Our ride home is…" unsure of what to say, he paused. Sherlock mercifully came to the rescue.

"Incapacitated at the moment. We-" Aileen shushed him as she looked at the now-clean wound. John continued.

"We were actually wondering if we could borrow money for the fare. The next time we come-"

"In two days-" Sherlock added,

"We will pay you back." said,

"Sure thing." He began to pull out a few coins from under the counter when Aileen, who had pulled some sort of salve out of the black back and was now putting it on Sherlock's cheek, said,

"Where do you boys live?" John answered her since Aileen had her hand over Sherlock's mouth in an attempt to keep him quiet and as a result, his cheek from moving as she inspected it.

"London." Aileen's mouth fell open as she froze in putting the salve on Sherlock's cut and the tinker dropped the coins he was fetching for them on the floor. As he chased after them rolling about, he said,

"London? You're serious?" Sherlock, in a muffled voice, asked,

"You're surprised?" finished picking up the coins and said,

"Well, that's quite a trip for two young boys like yourselves."

"Two days in a row," added Aileen. "How did you get here if you didn't take the train?" Her husband answered that for her.

"Their father is a fisherman, that's why they pay us in fish. I didn't imagine that he would come all the way out here for some fish though. Surely there has to be somewhere closer to London you could catch fish?" Aileen was still busy with Sherlock, so John did some improvising.

"It's our good luck spot. Anywhere closer, the fish smell like they jumped clean out of the Thames." He paused while they laughed at his joke. "There is something else you should know. We don't fish with our father. We fish-"

"With our uncle." Sherlock interrupted John. They caught each other's eye and smiled. It wasn't far from the truth and it was a lot easier than explaining their backstories. Aileen, satisfied with her work, gave Sherlock a pat on the shoulder.

"I'm finished. You boys get back home safe." passed them the coins, which they pocketed.

"Thank you for the fare," said John.

"And for fixing up my face." The tinker put one of his strong arms around his wife's shoulders and gave them a squeeze.

"Don't mention it. Get home safe, now. I would hate to never see you again." They all smiled and for the second time that day, they left his shop waving over their shoulders.

"Well, that was an experience." Sherlock was right. Neither of them had ever been on a train before, so they had no idea what they were doing. It didn't help that anyone and everyone was staring at them. They didn't exactly blend in to the normal crowd. Two little boys, alone, and one of them was sporting a rather large and conspicuous cut on his cheek. They were stared at, but people tended to avoid them, which worked in their favor. Neither of them liked being crowded.

They took advantage of the long ride; Sherlock taught John more french.

"Okay, ask me what time it is." John screwed his face up in concentration.

"Err...Quelle heure est-il?" Sherlock smiled.

"Perfect." John looked around and noticed that people had moved on from staring at them and were now whispering behind their hands.

"How do you tell people to piss off?" Sherlock laughed at this. He answered,

"Casse-toi."

The rest of the train ride passed with the same uncomfortable whispers and glances from behind newspapers. They continued on though; John was determined to learn french. They kept at it all the way to London.

It was dinner time when they disembarked. They felt their stomachs rumble; they hadn't eaten anything since their slice of toast this morning.

"Before we go back, we need to go to the wharfs first." John, confused, asked,

"How come?" Sherlock lead the way off the platform as he said,

"To leave Saprisi a message." John was still confused, but trusted his friend enough to know that he probably had the right idea. The wharfs were only a short walk from the station, and soon enough they were standing at Saprisi's empty boat space.

"It's weird, isn't it?" John was looking at the spot where Saprisi normally tied up his vessel.

"What is?" asked Sherlock as he rapped on the door to Delmar's cabin.

"Seeing his spot empty." John pointed to the empty space and Sherlock said,

"I guess so. It is a bit strange." He turned back to the cabin on the little blue boat and said, "Delmar, open up! I know you are in there!" as he banged on the door with his fist. The door swung open a moment later and the wrinkly old man that stood on the threshold said,

"What? I thought I told you to leave me alone! If Saprisi-" He paused as he saw Saprisi's empty boat space. Sherlock took this opportunity to say,

"Yeah, Saprisi isn't here. When he comes back, can you tell him that John and I are fine?" The old man blinked really slowly, like he was trying to work out a problem in his head.

"How did you get here without him? I saw you leave with him this morning!" He paused for a moment before he added, "Who the bloody hell is John?"

"It's me!" said John indignantly.

"So you'll tell him then? You'll tell Saprisi?" asked Sherlock before Delmar could interrupt again.

"Sure, but if you think I'm done with you-"

"Thanks Delmar!" and with that, the two boys took off running before Delmar could ask them any more questions.


End file.
